Wavelet Analysis
by jlm110108
Summary: Working with two visiting professors, Charlie helps Don solve the case of a stolen Manet.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Numb3rs or profit from it. I do own the two new characters, Ben & Maggie. I know a lot of people don't like stories with original characters, so be forewarned. Also, this story was written before season 3, so Charlie has not yet invented the curvelet analysis he uses in the episode "Provenance."

Chapter 1

I have to admit that my first day as a visiting professor at CalSci was more than a little scary. My husband, Ben, and I had arrived from the east coast the day before, and were still getting acclimated to the time change, the weather, the traffic, and the new (to us) campus. We were scheduled to address a meeting of the faculty to introduce our new program. If the program was as well-received by Cal Sci's mathematicians and scientists as it had been by Upstate New York Art Institute's artists, we were in for a long semester.

My plan was to let Ben do the talking. His doctorate, his academic credentials and his intellect teamed with his British accent to make anything he said sound a lot more impressive. Unfortunately, he had been waylaid and had sent me into the lion's den to find seats for us. About halfway down the auditorium I found two aisle seats next to a pair of professors engaged in an animated discussion.

"Excuse me," I said when they didn't appear to notice me right away. "Are these seats taken?"

The nearer one, a very young looking man with a shock of black curls, looked up and smiled. "No, they're not. Have a seat. I'm Charlie Eppes."

"Hi, Charlie. I'm Maggie Cole."

"Maggie, this is Larry Fleinhardt. He's in the physics department, and I'm in applied mathematics. What's your field?"

"Hi, Larry. I'm in art history and museology." Two sets of eyebrows raised, as I knew they would. "My husband and I are here for a semester to develop a program between our two schools. We're hoping to develop art electives that are more meaningful to mathematicians and scientists than the traditional courses. And we're hoping to find someone from Cal Sci to develop math and science electives for our art students."

Larry nodded. "That makes a great deal of sense. You know, Einstein said, 'After a certain high level of technical skill is achieved, science and art tend to coalesce in aesthetics, plasticity, and form. The greatest scientists are always artists as well."

"And I think there needs to be something of the scientist in the artist, as well," I added. "Though my last excursion into the field of science was a college physics class called 'The Physics of Light and Color,' which we nicknamed 'Physics for Artists.'"

"Did you enjoy the class?" Larry asked.

"I have to admit, I did."

"And yet you were not persuaded to abandon art and turn your energies to the sciences."

"No, but I consider myself a better artist because of it."

Ben slipped into the seat beside me. I turned and gave him a quick one-armed hug. "Larry Fleinhardt, Charlie Eppes, this is my husband, Ben Cole. Ben, Larry is a physics professor and Charlie is a math professor."

Ben reached across me to shake hands. "Hullo, Larry and Charlie. Say, Charlie, are you the Eppes of the Eppes Convergence?"

Charlie beamed. "Why, yes, I am. Are you familiar with my work?"

Ben looked mildly embarrassed. "No, not really. You were in the New York Times Sunday crossword puzzle this week."

Larry smiled at Charlie. "Very impressive, Charles! You're becoming part of the culture."

A no-nonsense woman stood at the podium and called the meeting to order. I believe her name was Dr. Wilson. She conducted a great deal of business that held no interest at all for me, and finally announced our presence. "I would like to introduce two visiting faculty members, Dr. Bennington Cole and Ms. Maggie Cole. They are here as part of a special cooperative program between Cal Sci and their home college, the Upstate New York Art Institute. Dr. Cole is a respected art historian with degrees from Oxford, the Sorbonne and Heidelberg. He is a recognized authority on the impressionists, especially Monet, and has published several books in his field. Ms. Cole is a lecturer on museum science and will be teaching drawing and painting classes here. But I'll let them explain their program to you."

Ben and I took the stage to lukewarm applause. With the exception of our two new friends, it seemed that the reaction of most of the faculty members was somewhere between hostility and boredom. I was glad we had decided to let Ben do the talking. I could handle people in small doses, but crowds terrified me.

Ben took the podium and turned on the charm. "Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen. We are honored to have been invited to present our program to you. I realize we represent a field of learning that is not of great interest to most of you. And I must say that you represent fields that are a mystery to us. Basically, our intention is to present the art electives your students are required to take for graduation in a manner that will be more meaningful to them. And I would hope that some time in the future, one or two of you might be willing to present science or math in such a way to our students.

"I will be teaching one section of art history as influenced by developments in the sciences, and one section of the use of scientific techniques to authenticate works of art. Maggie will be teaching two sections of drawing for scientists. Because these courses are new, Maggie and I will be presenting sample lectures here tomorrow afternoon at 2:00. We invite you to join us, and please bring your questions and concerns, to us any time. Our office, home address, phone numbers and email addresses are listed in the new faculty directory. Thank you."

We left the stage to slightly more enthusiastic applause. I couldn't help but wonder if they were applauding because Ben's talk was so short.

We slid into our seats. Charlie touched my arm and whispered, "Join us for coffee after the meeting?"

"Sounds good," I whispered.

He patted my arm consolingly. "Your program sounds interesting."

I leaned over to Ben and whispered, "Would you like to join Charlie and Larry for coffee after this?"

He nodded and whispered, "Though a good stiff drink might be more in line."

The meeting finally came to an end. A few of the faculty members came over to us and made polite noises, but most of them avoided us. Finally, we left the auditorium and walked toward a nearby coffee shop. Charlie and Larry seemed at a loss for words, which I imagined was rare for them. I decided to break the silence. "Well, that could have gone better. To be honest, that was about the same reaction we got at our school."

Larry said, "And yet you were determined to persevere."

Ben said, "We feel strongly that this approach will produce stronger, more well-rounded students at both of our institutions. Perhaps Maggie and I are just not the salesmen we thought we were."

We arrived at the coffee shop and Ben said, "I vote we table this discussion and just enjoy the rest of the day."

The coffee shop was a charming, rambling place with nooks, tables, booths and conversation pits. The menu, posted on whiteboards and blackboards on the walls behind the counter, proclaimed an impressive collection of coffees, teas and desserts. Charlie and Larry knew exactly what they wanted, so they ordered while Ben and I perused the menus. I finally settled on a chai tea latte and Ben chose a pot of Darjeeling. Charlie and Larry led us to a small cluster of loveseats with a coffee table in the middle.

Ben was pleased to learn that his teapot contained loose tea and there was a small strainer balanced on the lip of his cup. "Oh, finally! I despaired of ever finding a place over here that makes a proper cuppa."

Larry nodded. "Heat the pot by rinsing with boiling water. Place the leaves in the pot, and add the water – boiling for black teas, and slightly cooler for green or white teas. Steep for four minutes, and enjoy."

Charlie laughed. "Larry can wax eloquent on any subject."

Ben toasted Larry with his teacup. "A true Renaissance man, Dr. Fleinhardt! Have you applied your physics to the study of tea, then?"

"No, I spent a semester in Oxford. My landlady insisted that it was a key part of a well-rounded education."

"Right she was."

Charlie took advantage of the break when Larry and Ben sipped their drinks. "Ben, I was interested in your use of scientific techniques to authenticate works of art. Are you familiar with wavelet analysis?"

"Yes, the work of Dr. Hany Farid of Dartmouth, right? I've read his articles about his work with the works of Pieter Bruegel, but have never seen the process in person. And I'm afraid most of his math was beyond my understanding."

"I built on Farid's work to develop an algorithm that helped solve a forgery case for the FBI here."

"Really? A painting?"

"No, ten dollar bills, but the principle is the same."

"It most definitely is. I would love to see your work, Charlie."

Larry glanced at Charlie. "And I'm sure Charles would love to show it to you. He is so young, brilliant and full of himself."

Charlie gave Larry a mock scowl. "At the very least, I think I can explain wavelet analysis so you can understand it."

At that moment, a cell phone sounded loudly. Half the people in the coffee shop checked to see if it was theirs. It was Charlie's. "Hello?" he said, "Oh, hi, Don!... No, I'm in the coffee shop with Larry and a couple of visiting professors. Why?" His eyes widened as he listened. Suddenly he laughed. "Don, you have got to come meet us. You want to meet here or in my office?... Your office? Sure. I'll be bringing a couple of Monet experts with me, if that's okay with you."

He flipped his phone shut and picked up his coffee to take a long drink.

"Charles," Larry scolded. "You are being cruel. Tell us what Don wanted and why he needs two Monet experts."

"Well, first off, for Maggie and Ben's benefit, Don is my brother. He's an FBI agent, and I have been working as a consultant on some of his cases. He was involved in a raid on a drug warehouse, and they turned up a painting. He says they think it's a Monet. What an incredible coincidence!"

"I don't know, Charles. Do you believe in coincidences? And did you consider that our new friends might have other plans for the afternoon?"

Charlie looked chastened as he glanced from Ben to me. "I am sorry. Did you have other plans?"

Ben chuckled. "Nothing we couldn't postpone for a Monet, right, Dear?"


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Ben grabbed what he calls his "tool kit." I call it his man-purse. It contains magnifying glasses, brushes, soft cloths, a digital camera, a notebook, pencils, and all sorts of little gadgets he uses when he examines paintings.

We elected to let Charlie drive us to his brother's office, since he knew the way. Larry had a class, and wasn't able to join us, but he did take time to issue several dire warnings about Charlie's skill as a driver. We made it without a scratch and with only one or two added gray hairs

Charlie's ID badge enabled us to enter the building without an escort, but we still had to go through security. Charlie explained that there had been a shooting in the office a little while ago, and they had stepped up security as a result. "That must have been frightening," I said. "Were you here when it happened?"

He nodded. "It was. I was here, and it took quite a while before I was able to bring myself to come back." The guard checked our identification and provided us with visitor passes, and Charlie led us into an elevator and pushed the button for Don's floor.

"It's an impressive building," Ben said, breaking the awkward silence with a subtle change of subject.

"It is," Charlie agreed. "Everything here is state of the art." The elevator doors opened and Charlie led the way to Don's office. His office was actually one desk of many in an open area. "This," lady and gentleman, "is what is affectionately known as the bullpen. And this," he indicated a man sitting at one of the desks, "Is my big brother, Special Agent Don Eppes."

Don stood to greet us, "Hey, Charlie." He glanced at Ben and me and smiled, "Nice to meet you." He was a few inches taller than Charlie, wore a crisp white dress shirt and dark tie and had short hair that looked as if it would be as curly as Charlie's if he let it grow out.

Charlie continued the introductions, "Don, this is Dr. Ben Cole and his wife, Maggie. They are from the Upstate New York Art Institute, and Ben is an expert on authenticating paintings and an expert on Monet."

Don shook his head, "Charlie, you're unbelievable. You're finding a solution before I even give you the problem. Here," he pulled up a couple of chairs. "I'll show you what we found." As we sat, he was digging through a pile of papers on his desk. He found what he was looking for, an 8x10 color photo of a painting. "We were raiding a drug warehouse and this was one of the items we found. One of the agents said he thought it looked like a Monet."

I recognized the agent's mistake immediately, and turned to Ben, who said, "Actually, if anything, it's a Manet. It's a common mistake. Their styles are nothing at all alike, but they both worked during the same period, and their names are so similar." He leaned closer and squinted at the painting. "Maggie," he whispered, "Is that what I think it is?"

"Oh, my gosh. Could it really be...?"

"What?" Don asked.

Ben said, "It looks like Manet's 'Chez Tortoni,' which was stolen from the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in Boston back in – when was it? -- 1990?"

I nodded. "It sure does. Agent Eppes, can you access the FBI Art Theft Program website?"

Don clicked his computer mouse. "I can, and, please, call me Don." Within moments, Don had brought up the images of the artworks stolen from the Gardner. "Here it is," http://www.fbi.gov/hq/cid/arttheft/northamerica/us/isabella/manet.htm He double clicked on the image of a man in a top hat, seated at a table, writing and staring at the artist. It looked just like the painting in the photograph.

Ben looked across the desk at Charlie. "The theft in the Gardner was one of the most audacious thefts in history. Two men, dressed as Boston police officers, approached the security guard, told them they were responding to a call of a disturbance. The guard let them in, and about an hour and a half later, the men left with over $300 million worth of paintings, drawings, a print, and a Chinese beaker."

I continued, "Until now, none of the works of art has surfaced."

Ben cautioned, "They still may not have surfaced. This may be a forgery."

Charlie grinned, "I could come up with an algorithm..."

Don looked confused, "What kind of algorithm can tell a real painting from a fake, Charlie? Isn't that stretching the math thing a little bit?"

"Don, Don, Don, how many times do I have to tell you that everything is numbers? Anyway, remember the case with the forged $10 bills? Remember my wavelet analysis algorithm that helped you trace the artist who drew the original for those bills?"

"Yeah? How does that help us here?"

"Dr. Hany Farid, the mathematician who came up with the technique I used tested it using known authenticated Pieter Bruegel paintings and known fakes. He was able to identify which was which mathematically using a computer program that broke high resolution scans of the paintings into mathematically definable wavelets. Then he used those wavelets to create a statistical model that, for all intents and purposes, gave him a basis to determine whether new images were real or fake."

Don nodded. "Like a fingerprint."

"Only more so," Charlie agreed. "Farid created a 72 feature vector, a kind of sphere. When he plugged in the data from other images, the closer the wavelets were to the sphere, the more likely the image was a real Bruegel. When he entered the data from known fakes, the points were well outside that sphere."

"So, what do you need?"

Ben and Charlie exchanged amused glances. Ben answered, "We need to scan the Manet you have, along with as many known Manets as we can get our hands on."

Don raised his eyebrows and shook his head. "That sounds like it'll be a challenge."

"Well," Ben said, "You have several excellent museums in this area. Perhaps we can find a few Manets locally. If not, I do have connections with Interpol and Scotland Yard."

"Don't tell me you're a consultant, too," Don said with a wry grin.

I laughed. "He's a great consultant. He's worked with police agencies all over the world."

Charlie nudged Don. "Do I get a finder's fee?"

"Turn in an expense report and we'll see how far it gets. Now, I'll see what I can do to get your scans for you. What kind of resolution are you talking here?"

Ben said, "If I remember correctly, Farid used something like 2400 DPI."

Charlie nodded. "That sounds right. I'll look it up when I get back to my office and let you know."

"And Ben and I can start researching the local Manets."

Ben agreed, "I would like to do my own examination of any Manets we find, so we can test your algorithm."

It looked like Ben had said the wrong thing. Charlie actually bristled. "If I have enough data, my algorithm will work."

"Well, Charlie, this is a new field. Hany Farid did a very limited study. I believe he used fewer than a dozen paintings, and while his results were impressive, there is no indication they will hold up with a larger sample. Besides, I believe that part of the data you need will be the opinions of experts in the field. Otherwise, how will you know which paintings are real, and which are fake? No matter what your computer program finds, if you don't know if the results indicate the painting is real or a fake, the results won't do us any good."

Don said, "That makes sense, don't you think, Charlie?"

"Yes, it does. It really does." He rubbed his hands together. "Well, I'm ready to get working. How about you guys?"

Ben hesitated. "If it's possible, Don, I'd like to have a look at the painting you have."

Don chuckled. "I'm sure we can arrange to have it sent up here. Why don't I get you set up in a room full of white boards so Charlie can get started?"


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

While Don and Charlie were moving some whiteboards into a small conference room, a tall, slender woman with long straight hair and startlingly pale blue eyes joined us. Don looked up from the board he was positioning. "Hey, Megan, come on in and meet our newest consultants. Charlie found us a couple of art experts."

"Really? Wow, Charlie, that was fast." She crossed the room and held out her hand, "Hi, I'm Megan Reeves."

I shook her hand and said, "I'm Maggie Cole, and this is my husband, Ben."

"It's great to meet you! I hear we might have a Monet on our hands."

"It's more likely a Manet," Ben said as he shook hands with Megan. "We're going to have a look at it, and Charlie, here, is developing an algorithm..."

Megan laughed, a warm, amused sound, "Why am I not surprised? Charlie seems to have an algorithm for everything." She grinned as Charlie gave her a mock scowl. "Anyway, Don, I just stopped in to tell you that David and Colby are on their way up. They're stopping to get the painting for you." She waved to us as she left, "Ben, Maggie, it was nice meeting you."

Don looked around the room. "Well, Chuck, you think that's enough white boards for now?"

"It's a good start. I can't stay too long today anyway. I've got class in," he paused to check his watch, "an hour and a half. That'll give me an hour to get started while Ben checks out the painting."

Don nodded, "And, Ben, Maggie, if you would be willing to consult for us, I should do a background check."

I watched Ben's face light up. "I can't speak for my lovely wife, but I would love to consult for you. What do you need? Driver's license? Social Security number? It should be fairly quick anyway. I worked with the FBI in New York a few years back, and, as I mentioned, I've worked with Scotland Yard and Interpol."

"Driver's license would be fine. Maggie, how about you?"

I took Ben's hand and fluttered my eyelashes at him, "Whither thou goest, I will go." I dug my wallet out of my purse and handed Don my driver's license. "I don't have the same pedigree as Ben, but, unless you count speeding, I've never been on the wrong side of the law."

Don took our licenses, and I noticed him checking our resemblance to the photographs before he left the room. "I'll be back in a few minutes," he said.

Charlie unpacked his laptop and booted it up. Then he stepped up to one of the white boards and started writing. He didn't seem to have to stop and think. It was as if the equations flowed seamlessly from his brain to the fingers holding the marker. The equations grew and within minutes he had moved to a second white board.. I had been fairly good at math in high school and college, especially in geometry and algebra, but what Charlie was writing looked like some kind of alien language.

Ben broke the spell. "Charlie, do you mind if I use your computer for a few minutes? I'd like to start looking for some Manets."

"Hmm? Oh, yeah, go ahead. I won't be needing it for a while yet. It should be logged in to the WiFi when it finishes booting. Just open Firefox and you'll be ready to go."

Ben Googled "Manet" and "Los Angeles," and within seconds, he had found two at the Getty Museum, and three at the Norton Simon Museum in Pasadena. He took out his notebook and copied the information, including names and numbers of people to contact at each museum.

I sat next to Ben, watching him work, and suddenly had an idea. "Do you think the Victoria and Albert might have a fake Manet in their "Fakes and Forgeries" gallery?"

I could see Ben running through the V&A's collection in his head. "I dunno. I'll call Mark and ask him." He glanced at his watch, did a quick calculation of time zones, and decided that Mark Jones might just be in his office. He got the phone number from the website, took out his cell phone and dialed.

"Good evening, is Mark Jones available? This is Bennington Cole." He listened for a moment, then said, "Thank you. I appreciate it." He turned to me. "She's paging him. It's only 7 o'clock there. I'm sure he's... Yes? Thank you... Hello, Mark! Yes, it's been ages. Oh, excellent. How are you? Listen, Mark, I need to ask you a favor. I'm trying to authenticate a Manet... No, it's for the FBI... I'll let you know as soon as I'm allowed. Anyway, do you happen to have a fake Manet in your fakes collection? You do? Brilliant! Would you do me a huge favor?... Could you have it scanned and email me the scan? It needs to be at least 2400 dpi. Can you do that? ... Wonderful. Yes, it's the same email address... Well, thank you. I'll let you go. Maggie sends her love. Oh, yes, tell Felicity we miss her. Goodnight!"

Charlie turned from his calculations. "They have a collection of fakes?"

"Yes," Ben said. "It's an amazing resource. They only have one Manet, but I believe it will give you something to compare. Mark is the director at the V&A, and he's promised to email the scan in the morning."

Don returned, handed us our licenses, and said, "Well, you two passed with flying colors. Welcome to the team! Ben, the agent in charge in New York spoke very highly of you. Maggie, your speeding tickets were not bad enough to jeopardize your security clearance."

"That's good to hear," I said as I put my license back.

"I've got the normal paperwork for you. Ben, I assume you're familiar with how it works?"

Ben glanced over the forms Don had handed him. "Yes, it's pretty much the same as it was in New York."

I signed the form without reading it. "I trust Ben. He'll explain it all to me later. And if you're ripping me off, I'll just blame him for talking me into it."

Ben laughed as he signed his form. "And, there you have it, gentlemen. The key to a happy marriage. Everything is my fault."

"Don," we turned as a handsome black man entered the room, carrying the painting, "Here's the painting you wanted."

"Thanks. Maggie, Ben, this is David Sinclair. David, Maggie and Ben Cole are our latest consultants. They're the art experts Charlie found for us."

"Hi," David said as he shook our hands. "Here you go." He grinned as he handed Ben the painting. "You two can fight over who gets to look at it first."

"Oh, I defer to the man with the magnifying glass," I said as Ben dug in his tool kit and produced a lighted magnifier.

Ben put the painting on the table, and we stood, just looking at it for a few long moments. It was smaller than I expected. For some reason, I always expect paintings to be huge. This one was something like 10" x 13". I imagine when it was framed, it had been in one of those large, gilded things that were so popular in the 19th century. Ben took a clean cloth from his tool kit, spread it on the table, then picked the painting up by the edges, and turned it over onto the cloth so he could examine the stretcher and any markings. I realized Ben was in his zone – the same way Charlie had been while he was working on his calculations. So, for the benefit of Charlie and the agents, who probably had no idea what Ben was doing, I decided to narrate.

"There are often distinguishing marks on the back of a painting. Galleries and some private owners would often put stickers or stamps on their paintings. These marks help us establish who owned the painting" Ben took out his camera and took a few photos of the back of the painting.

"Why is that important?" Charlie asked. "Shouldn't we be focusing on the painting itself?"

"Scientific methods of authenticating paintings have not really been perfected yet. We can tell approximately how old the materials are, we can tell what kind of paint the artist used, we can probably tell where and when the canvas was manufactured. But none of those things prove who painted this particular painting. Maybe your algorithm will give us that ability in the future. But for now, we have to try to establish where a painting has been between the time the artist painted it and now. Then we have to compare it to what we know of the artist's dealings."

Charlie put down his marker and came over to look at the painting. "How do you do that?"

"If Ben's research shows that Manet sold this painting to a particular gallery, and we find the mark of that gallery on the back of the painting, that would make things very easy."

Ben added, "Also, since we're trying to determine if Isabella Stewart Gardner owned this painting, we would look for evidence of that ownership. I think we should contact the museum and ask for whatever documentation they have."

Don nodded, "I've already got a call in to their director. I'll ask him when he returns my call."

Ben picked up his notebook. "I almost forgot to tell you, Don, but I have information on five local Manets, two in Los Angeles, and three in Pasadena." He ripped the top sheet from the notebook and handed it to Don. "Here are the details, including contact information."

Don took the sheet and handed it to David. "Sounds like a good job for you. We need to ask if we can get a 2400 dpi scan of these paintings so Charlie can compare them mathematically."

David looked dubious, but left with the list.

Ben turned the painting back over and took a few photos. Then he sat and began examining it closely.

"Now he's looking for things like brush strokes, overpainting, even the way the paint has cracked and aged. He's also looking for distinguishing features of Manet's style, the way he paints an eye, or how he handles the background. He's already looked at the painting from a distance, to get an overall view of how the style compares to Manet's. Manet liked to have his subjects staring at the viewer, almost challenging them. The man in this painting has that look, doesn't he, Ben?"

Ben nodded distractedly. "Mm hmm."

"Of course, Ben will have to look at this painting again, after he's seen the Manets in this area. I'm guessing it's been a year or more since he's seen a Manet in person, right, Ben?"

"Hmm? Yes, that's right. I think it was when we were in London on our honeymoon. Or maybe it was Paris. At the Musee D'Orsay. But it's important that I become familiar with the real thing, so I can know what to look for in this painting."

Charlie was nodding. "Don, it's kind of like the analogy I used when we were on the counterfeit money case. Remember the runners on the beach? The first runner runs, leaving footprints. But he's just doing his own thing, not trying to copy anybody else. The next runner comes along, trying to match the first runner's footprints exactly. He's not going to be able to match those steps. There are going to be noticeable differences."

Ben smiled. "I like that analogy. One thing we notice in forged art is that the forger is trying too hard to match the original. While the original has a relaxed, natural flow to it, the forgery often seems forced. Your second runner's footprints won't only miss matching the original. They'll also be uncomfortably unnatural as the runner adjusts his gait to fit the original."

Charlie glanced at his watch again. "I hate to break this up, but I'm going to have to get back to school."

Ben looked regretfully at the painting. "Don, I don't suppose I could take it with me..."

Don bit his lip and looked very thoughtful. "I don't know if that's a good idea. It's not that I don't trust you. This is evidence, and if I let it leave the building, it could cause trouble with our case."

"I understand. I really should see those other Manets first anyway. Why don't I call and make arrangements to come back in a day or two?"

"That would be great. Ben, Maggie, I want to thank you two for doing this. Charlie, I'll get in touch with you when we know about the scans. You want me to keep this room for you?"

Charlie looked at the boards. "No. I've got everything I need right here," he tapped his temple with his index finger.

Don patted Charlie on the shoulder. "You sure do, buddy."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

"Well, Charlie," I said as we walked back to the elevators. "It sounds like you do a lot of work for the FBI."

"Yeah," he said, grinning. "I've been on some pretty amazing cases. Until I started working with Don, I never realized how much of his work related to math. I mean, I know math is in everything, but to see how easily so many of Don's cases can be broken down into mathematical components is, well, it's amazing."

"It sounds like you enjoy working with your brother."

"Yeah. You know we've had our differences. Still do. But we're starting to understand each other."

I shook my head. "I don't know if I could work with my brother. We are not at all alike."

Charlie laughed. "In case you hadn't noticed, neither are Don and I."

"But you seem to complement each other," Ben said thoughtfully. "Rather like Maggie complements me. We have different interests, different ways of dealing with situations, but we work well together."

"We sure do," I said, squeezing his arm. "Ben was an incredible find for me. Here I was, in my forties, divorced, figuring I would never find Mr. Right. I'd actually given up looking. And one day, he's just thrown into my lap – almost literally."

Ben laughed. "I was hired during a period when the school didn't have enough office space for its professors, and, as the 'new guy,' I had to share an office."

"And as low 'man' on the totem pole, I was the one who had to rearrange everything to let some stranger move in."

We stepped into the almost-full elevator and our conversation ended until we reached the lobby. Our bags were given a cursory search before we left, and we walked to Charlie's car.

"So, Charlie," I said, "This may be a really dumb question, but how did you learn to think in mathematics like that?"

"Well," he said thoughtfully. "I don't think I ever really learned it. I have just always seen things that way. I did learn the tools I needed to express what I was seeing in my head. Does that make sense?"

I nodded. Ben said, "And where I tend to see things in pictures, you see mathematical patterns and equations to explain what you're seeing?"

"That's a great way of putting it. I look at a flower and see the number of petals and calculate how they're arranged."

"And I see shapes and colors, shadows and light," Ben said thoughtfully. "No wonder we look at this painting question so differently."

"Charlie," I said, "Would you like to come with us when we go to the two museums? I'd be interested in how you see the paintings."

"Sounds like fun."

I glanced at him, not sure if he was being sarcastic or not. He appeared to be sincere, so I continued. "One museum is in LA, and the other is in Pasadena."

"My dad and I live in Pasadena. We could go to the museum in LA, then the one in Pasadena and then go to my house for dinner. How's that sound? We could do it Saturday. Maybe Larry and Amita can join us."

"That would be great," I said. "We've met Larry. Who's Amita?"

It may have been just me, but I could have sworn Charlie hesitated just a bit too long before answering. "She's, ah, a friend. I was her thesis adviser, and, well, we. became friends. Good friends."

"Well, I can't wait to meet her," I said, grinning.

Ben said, "Me either. Let's see. Tomorrow's Friday, right? We have our sample class for the faculty in the afternoon. Perhaps by Saturday we'll be able to find our way around a little better."

"It'll be easier if I drive us. I know my way around, and I haven't gotten a single ticket since I got my license back." We reached his car and he unlocked the doors for us.

I hesitated. "Why did you lose it in the first place?"

"Ah, don't worry. Nobody died. And I've learned my lesson," he laughed. "Come on, hop in! You survived the trip here, right?"

I got in the back seat so the menfolk could sit in the front. Well, Charlie was driving, and Ben's legs are a lot longer than mine. If I'd taken the front seat, I would have had his knees poking me in the back all the way back to Cal Sci.

As promised, we did survive. Charlie wasn't a bad driver. He did like to go a little faster than I would have gone, but he handled the car well. When we arrived at school, we discovered that the office Ben and I were going to share wasn't that far from Charlie's office. He took us on a quick tour of the building. When we arrived at his office, the door was already open, and a stunning young woman was sitting at his desk. She looked up as we entered. "Hi, Charlie! Let me move my stuff."

"That's okay, Amita. Ben, Maggie, this is the friend I was telling you about, Amita Ramanujan. Amita, meet Ben and Maggie Cole."

"You're the visiting professors from the art college, right? It's great to meet you."

"How did you know who they were?" Charlie asked.

Amita pointed at his overflowing in basket. "If you'd bother cleaning that thing out once in a while, you might be able to keep up with the news a little better."

I laughed. "It looks like Charlie agrees with the great philosopher who said, 'A clean desk is the sign of a sick mind.' Ben and I are both followers of that particular philosophy as well."

Amita laughed. "Well, I should get going... And, Charlie, don't forget you have a class in..."

"I know! That's why I'm here. Listen, if you have time to stop by later, I want to tell you about the latest case Don has. Ben and Maggie are helping with it, and I'm fine tuning my wavelet analysis algorithm to use on what we think is a pretty famous painting."

"Sounds good," Amita said, "Why don't we talk as we walk? Ben and Maggie, I'm sorry to meet and run, but ..."

"We understand," Ben said. "We'll find our way back to our office Charlie, we'll see you later. Amita, it was a delight to meet you."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

We did indeed find our office with no trouble. I settled down at my desk to work on my lesson plan for tomorrow, and Ben opened his laptop. He noticed my glance, and said, "I have my plan finished. I am going to start some research on Manet." He glanced at his watch. "It's a little after 3 already. We never did have lunch, did we?"

"Want to grab something, or have an early supper? I don't know about you, but my inner clock is still messed up."

"Me too. I vote for an early supper." He stood and plugged in the electric kettle. "Care for a cuppa?"

"Sounds good. I opened my desk drawer and pulled out a box of Ben's favorite biscuits, McVitie's chocolate digestives. "These should tide us over 'til supper."

Ben sat back down and logged on. He chuckled. "Mark is unbelievable."

"Why?" I looked up from my computer. "What'd he do?"

"The scan of the painting is here already. It's, what, eleven at night there. I wonder if he scanned it himself, or if he dragged some poor conservator in to work." He double clicked on the file and turned the computer so I could see the screen. The screen was filled with an extreme closeup.

"Wow! That's a big file."

"I'm amazed the server accepted it." The kettle whistled briefly and shut itself off. Ben took out his favorite ceramic pot, rinsed it with hot water, dumped the water into a styrofoam cup, added 4 teaspoons of Darjeeling, and filled the pot with hot water. "There we go. Did you want something different?"

"Nope. Darjeeling is good. You going to email the painting to Charlie?"

"Good idea. I'll fill up his inbasket with this one." Ben sat back down and pulled out the faculty directory. "There. That should give him something to do."

I called up my lesson plan file and stared at it. After the reception we'd received in the faculty meeting this morning, I knew I needed to do some serious work on my lesson plan if I were going to impress this group. I had planned on dealing with the basics of quick sketching, then going into composition. I figured the sketching would be useful for scientists and their lab notes. Composition might appeal to the mathematical mind. Sounded like some serious brainstorming was in order. I started typing ideas as they came into my head. The wilder the better. Soon I had the beginning of an outline that seemed like it would work pretty well. I still didn't hold out much hope. I wondered if Ben was having any luck. When he handed me my mug of tea, I said, "Thanks! How's the Manet research going?"

"Oh, quite well, thanks. How's the lesson plan going?"

"It's coming. I'm not overly optimistic. I think you'll have a better time with your part than I will. Especially if you can bring Charlie's wavelet analysis into it. That should warm the cockles of their mathematical little hearts."

Ben chuckled. "Are you feeling a bit unappreciated here, my love?"

"Just a little scared. How about you?"

He shrugged. "Not really. Actually, I'm so intrigued by the Manet that I don't especially care what they think of us here at Cal Sci."

We went back to work until the phone rang. Ben was closest, so he picked it up, "Bennington Cole... Oh, hullo, Don... Yes, thank you, we are...Really? What changed your mind?... Oh. I see... How soon? ... We'll be here. See you then." He hung up. "That was odd."

"What?"

"Don wants to bring the Manet over here. But when I asked him this morning if we could bring it here, he said no."

"What did he say when you asked him why he changed his mind?"

"He just said 'something's come up.' He seemed to be in a hurry, so I didn't press him for more information. He said he'd be here in about forty five minutes with the painting. We'll have to figure out someplace to lock it up when we're not here."

"And it really should be kept in a controlled environment," I added. "This is really weird."

Ben chuckled. "Well I'm certainly not going to tell him not to bother. I can't wait to have another look at that painting"

"Me either." We settled in to finish our work before Don showed up. I finished my lesson plan, and was fairly satisfied with it. Ben was printing out some notes he had assembled about Manet.

There was a rap on the door and we both looked up. Don stood in the doorway with a nondescript package in his hands. Standing next to him was a young man who was obviously yet another agent. There was something distinctive about the gray suit with the not overly noticeable bulge under the arm.

Ben stood, "Hello, Don. Come on in and have a seat."

Don handed Ben the package and said, "Ben and Maggie, this is Colby Granger."

Ben shook hands with Colby. "Nice to meet you, Colby."

I stood and went to the electric kettle. "Would you guys like tea? I'm afraid the only coffee we have is instant..."

"I'm good," Don said as he took a seat.

"Me too," Colby said, sitting next to Don.

I poured myself more tea and held the pot up to Ben, who held out his cup for me to refill. "Thanks, love," he said. "Now, Don," he said as he sat. "Why are you breaking one of the cardinal rules of evidence by bringing the painting here?"

Don raised his eyebrows and shook his head. "See, Colby, I told you he was sharp. Well, things have changed since this morning. I just got a call from the director of the Isabella Stewart Gardner museum. She is insisting on sending her own expert out here to examine the painting. I, uh, am not quite ready to give up control of this painting. It is evidence in a major drug bust. So I stretched the truth a little and told her my expert has the painting and I wouldn't have it back for a couple of days. So it looks like you have the painting for a couple of days. Unless, of course..." He reached toward the package.

Ben laughed. "No! Don't even think about that. I've been hoping to have another look at this," he said as he carefully opened the package. "You've done a good job of packing this," he murmured.

"Thanks, but that was the evidence techs. They know how to do that kind of thing. They warned me that you shouldn't expose it to extreme temperatures or humidity, but I'm sure you know all that."

"Actually, Maggie's the expert in that area. She was not thrilled that the painting is not being kept in a controlled environment. I, on the other hand, am thrilled." He reached for his man-purse, er, toolkit.

I turned to our guests. "Well, Ben is not going to be a very good host since you've brought him that shiny new toy. Are you sure you wouldn't like tea or coffee?"

"Actually," Don began. "I should find Charlie..."

"He was on his way to class," I said. "I think he was planning on coming back here afterwards. Oh, I almost forgot. Ben's friend at the V&A emailed him the scan of the fake Manet already. Ben forwarded it to Charlie. Did you have any luck with the Norton Simon and the Getty?"

Don grinned. "I delegated it to Colby here. He has a way with the arts and croissants crowd."

Colby gave his boss a look that could have peeled paint. "They weren't thrilled by my request. Apparently, light can damage paintings, so they have to have a really good reason to shine a bright light on them." He grinned. "I told them about our Manet and they decided that that was a good enough reason."

Ben looked up from his work. "That's great, Colby. I'll defer to our museologist here, but I believe an occasional flash of light won't do much harm. Don, were you able to have this painting scanned, or should I try to find a scanner here?"

"The evidence people scanned it already and emailed it to Charlie. His inbasket should be overflowing about now. All we need is for you to continue your examination."

Ben took out his camera and a small, folding tripod and took a series of photographs of the painting. First, a few overall, then closeups of smaller sections. Then he took his desklamp and turned it so the light hit the canvas from the side.

"He's using what they call 'raking light,'" I explained. "By lighting the canvas from the side, yo can clearly see the bumps, valleys and cracks in the paint surface. These are important clues as to the age of the painting and the materials the artist used. Forgers are, of course, very careful to copy an artist's style, but they occasionally slip up in the use of materials." Ben took a few more photographs.

Colby leaned forward to watch the process. "Wouldn't it be easier to have a lab test some of the paint?"

"We do that, too. But it's not always possible to get a sample without damaging the painting," Ben said. "I believe the Getty has an excellent lab. They may be able to do the scientific bit. Unless the FBI wants to handle that?"

Don nodded. "We'll probably do that. But we may call in experts from the Getty to supervise. We don't want the Gardner folks to get any angrier than they already are." He chuckled. "Their director actually demanded I return the painting to her immediately. When I refused, she insisted on sending her own expert. When I refused that, too, she threatened to sic the Boston FBI office on me."

"Sounds like she's a force to be reckoned with," I said.

"I'm just glad I only had to reckon with her over the phone. If I ever meet the lady in person, I hope to be wearing kevlar and have backup!"


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

There was another rapping at our door, and we all looked up to welcome Larry and Charlie. "Hey, guys," Don said.

"Hey, Don," Charlie replied.

"Is that the Manet?" Larry asked with more than a hint of awe in his voice.

Ben looked up, smiling. "Yes. Beautiful, isn't it?"

"Oh, yes, it is. I understand they originally thought it was a Monet. However, there is a great deal of difference between the two. What was the source of the discrepancy?"

"Simple confusion over the two names," Ben said, diplomatically.

"Have you established its authenticity yet?" Larry walked behind Ben and looked over his shoulder as he worked.

"Not yet. My initial hunch is that it is the real thing. However, there is a lot of work to do first. Charlie is going to evaluate it mathematically as well."

Larry nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, Charles told me about his algorithm. This should be a wonderful marriage between the worlds of art and science."

Colby laughed. "I think this is getting a little too kinky for my tastes."

"Oh," I said, "You have not lived until you've seen art and science carrying on. In fact, Ben and I are giving a lecture tomorrow, and you might just enjoy it."

Colby shook his head. "Sorry, the boss won't let me off work. Speaking of work, Charlie, you should be getting the scans you need in the next day or two."

"Great! Don put you in charge of browbeating the museums?"

"Yeah. We decided to see how the marriage of art and law enforcement went. Law enforcement won."

"And Ben emailed you the scan of the fake from the Victoria and Albert," I said.

Don added, "And I emailed you the scan of this painting. You'd better go empty your inbasket, buddy. But first, I need to talk with you. Have you got a few minutes?"

"Sure."

"Let's go down to your office, okay?"

"All right," Charlie said, hesitantly. "Amita was going to meet me here..."

"You'll be right back." Don and Colby stood, and left with Charlie.

Larry watched the exchange with furrowed brow. "That was rather strange, don't you think?"

I shrugged. "I don't know them well enough to judge."

Ben went back to examining the painting. He had put on soft cotton gloves and had his magnifier in one hand and a soft brush in the other. Larry was leaning over his shoulder again. Finally, Ben looked up. "Pull up a chair, Larry."

"I'm fine here."

"Well, I'm not," Ben said, letting a touch of irritation creep into his voice. "Your hovering is distracting."

"Oh, I am sorry. I didn't realize..."

"Not a problem," Ben said. "Just have a seat." He brushed the surface of the painting gently. "It sounds as if you're interested in art, Larry."

"Well, I do believe that it is possible to be a Renaissance man, even in these days when knowledge is growing exponentially. Unlike some scientists, and, dare I say, mathematicians, I take pleasure in studying all fields. The impressionists were very scientific in their methods. Their understanding of light and color was, of course, rudimentary compared to what we know today..."

Fortunately, we were interrupted by Amita's arrival. "Hi, Amita," I said before she could knock. "Charlie said you'd be here. He and Don have gone off to Charlie's office for a few minutes. He should be back any moment."

"Oh, thanks. I was waylaid by a student."

"Would you like some tea? We have a pot made. Or there's instant coffee..."

"Tea would be great." She inhaled deeply as I handed her a cup. "Darjeeling, right?"

"Very good," Ben said. "Are you a connoisseur?"

"Not really. It's my mom's favorite." She nodded toward the painting. "How's it coming, Ben? I know Charlie can't wait to work on the algorithm. I imagine you feel the same way about whatever it is you do with paintings."

Ben chuckled. "You're right. There's something incredibly fulfilling about studying a painting like this one. Everything, from the overall theme to the tiniest brushstroke or crack, combines to give an overall impression of the genius of the painter." He glanced from Larry to Amita. "I know it must seem terribly unscientific to you, but once you're familiar with an artist's work, you can almost sense whether a painting is genuine or not."

Amita and Larry exchanged amused glances. "Actually," Amita said, "You're wrong. Mathematicians and scientists often begin with intuition when developing theories."

Larry added, "Informed, educated intuition is very important. And you, with your knowledge of the works of Manet, have a very informed intuition."

"Well," Ben said, "That's good to know. I was afraid you'd think I was practicing voodoo or something."

"Who's practicing voodoo?" Charlie asked from the doorway. "Hey, Amita. Sorry. I had to talk to Don for a minute." He grinned at me. "Colby said to tell you he's sorry he's going to miss all the excitement tomorrow."

I rolled my eyes. "I'll bet he's sorry."

"So, Charlie, how is your algorithm going to deal with this painting?" Amita asked.

Charlie explained the way Hany Farid had worked with the Bruegels. She was already familiar with the work Charlie had done with the counterfeit money, so it didn't take long to bring her up to speed. I was impressed with the way they worked together. I barely understood Charlie when he lapsed into pure mathspeak, but she not only understood him, she was able to take his thoughts and run with them. Together they were a force to be reckoned with.

As soon as the thought had crossed my mind, I thought back on Don's predicament with the director of the Gardner. Another force to be reckoned with. Don was obviously used to dealing with hardened criminals. I wonder if he'd ever encountered an academic in full cry before. An intellectual whose turf was peed on by another intellectual, metaphorically speaking, of course, could be as violent and unpredictable as any crack addict. Metaphorically speaking, of course. If the Gardner's expert showed up at CalSci while Ben was in possession of the Manet, hackles were going to rise and the metaphorical leg lifting would commence.

I forced my mind back to the intellectual conversation at hand, and tried to replace the crass images with something more uplifting. I gazed at the Manet.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Charlie had taken a magnifying glass and was bent over the painting, looking at the brush strokes. He whistled softly. "There are a lot of lines for the algorithm to analyze. And we're going to have to find a way to separate the brush strokes from the cracks, or it's going to confuse things." He glanced up at Ben. "I'm assuming, of course, that no two paintings would have identical crack patterns."

Larry nodded. "I would think the conditions under which the paintings were stored would have a great deal of influence on how the surface reacts."

Ben agreed. "The environment is the primary cause of the cracks. Careless handling also contributes. This painting is not in very good condition, so I am assuming that it was in the possession of people who knew nothing about handling paintings."

Amita took the magnifying glass from Charlie's hand and leaned over the painting. "The cracks are similar in thickness, and they tend to be straight lines. The brush strokes vary in thickness and go every which way." She handed the magnifying glass back to Charlie. "Maybe if you run the analysis on a small section to begin with, you'll start to see ways to separate the waves."

"Great idea," Charlie said. He finished his tea and said, "Ben, Maggie, thanks for the tea and the conversation. I think it's time I got to work on this."

Amita laughed. "If you want him to stay here longer, you're going to have to get some blackboards in here. He thinks better with chalk in his hands."

After they left, Ben and I decided to head home for dinner. Ben carefully repacked the painting and we brought it with us. On the way to our car, we stopped by to visit Charlie, Amita and Larry. They were hard at work, Amita at the computer, Charlie at the blackboards, and Larry watching and offering comments. Ben rapped on the door frame. "Hi!" Charlie said. "Heading home?"

"Yes," Ben replied. "How about you? You staying all night?"

Charlie laughed. "It has been known to happen, but probably not tonight. I just wanted to put this all down while it was still in my head. See you in the morning!"

At seven the next morning, we walked past Charlie's office. The door was closed and locked, and there was no evidence of activity behind the frosted glass. We unlocked our office and settled in for the day's work. Ben unpacked the painting and I settled back with my sketch book. My lesson plan was as ready as it was going to be, so I decided to relax a bit. A few minutes later, Charlie arrived. "Good morning, early birds," he said cheerfully.

"Good morning! How is your computer program coming?" I replied.

"It's great. I've got it set up and running the first test now. I figured I'd stop by and see how you were doing."

I realized I hadn't filled the electric kettle. "I'll be right back. I'm going to fill this," I said, lifting the kettle from the table. "I can have tea or instant coffee ready for you in about five minutes."

"Sounds great," Charlie replied. I was up way too late last night tweaking the program, and I've got an eight o'clock class this morning."

"I don't envy you," Ben said. "Thankfully our classes don't start until next week. How many classes are you teaching in the summer session?"

"Only three, but I have a group of independent study students too."

I left them chatting and headed down to the teacher's lounge to fill the kettle. As I was coming back down the hallway, I heard noises coming from our office. As I got closer, I realized Ben was yelling at someone. The I heard a yell of pain, and I started to run, spilling water all over the place. When I was about fifteen feet from the office, a man ran through the door, carrying the Manet. I debated whether to chase him, and decided there was no way I'd catch him, so I went into the office.

I ran into Charlie as he stumbled toward the door. A diagonal gash ran through his shirt from his right shoulder downward. Blood flowed freely, soaking his shirt. Ben stood at his desk, cradling his left hand in the right. Blood was oozing between his fingers and dripping onto the desk.

"What happened?!" I yelled as I grabbed Charlie by the shoulders to keep him from falling.

"Stop him," Charlie said. "I'm okay. Get the painting."

"It's too late. He's gone."

I led Charlie to a chair and gently pushed him down into it. "Sit down before you fall down." I went to Ben's side and pushed him down into his desk chair. "You too, Ben." I took off my white silk scarf and began wrapping Ben's hand. Apparently the guy had stabbed clear through his hand, and it was bleeding like crazy.

Charlie struggled to get his cell phone from his jeans pocket and dialed. "Don!" His voice cracked. "The painting. It's been taken... I... Yes. One man with a knife. He stabbed Ben... Yeah, but I'll be okay... No. Listen. He was about 6' tall, stocky build, blond hair, blue eyes... I don't know. Maybe Ben..." He handed the phone to Ben. "You got a better look. Don wants a better description."

I went to Charlie, took the phone and handed it to Ben. Then I pulled Charlie's shirt open to get a better look at his wounds. I grabbed some clean cloths from the closet and began dabbing at the blood so I could see how bad it was. "Looks like he slashed you. No real puncture wounds from what I can see."

Charlie nodded. "I tried to grab him after he got the painting from Ben. He turned around and caught me with the knife." He winced as I pressed the cloth to the wound. I asked him to hold the cloth in place while I checked him over. His left forearm was also cut. It looked like a defensive wound, as if he had put his hand up to fend off the knife. I wrapped a second cloth around the arm and tied it tightly.

I went back to Ben. He had closed Charlie's phone, and was putting pressure on his hand. He looked up when I sat on his desk. "Don is sending campus security and the paramedics. He'll be here as soon as he can."

"That's good. Here, let me have a look at the hand." I gently took his hand and rewrapped it. "How did this happen? Who was that guy?"

"I don't know who he was. He came in here, greeted us by name and then said, 'This is what I've come for,' and grabbed the painting. I reached for the painting and he stabbed me." He looked at his hand in amazement. "The knife went clear through my hand and the painting. It probably even nicked the desk." He grimaced as he touched the spot where the knife had indeed gone into the desktop. He smiled suddenly. "It looks like we've got some paint chips the lab can use."

I looked at the desk and saw the white and yellow chips in the blood. "Colby will be happy." I turned to look at Charlie. "How are you doing, Charlie? Can I do anything for you?"

He was pale, and obviously in pain, but he shook his head. "I'm okay. Don is sending paramedics?"

Ben nodded. "I thought it was an excellent idea."

"Me too," Charlie said softly.

I went back to have another look at Charlie's injuries. The bleeding had slowed a little, which was a good sign. I glanced at my watch. It was almost 8:00. "Charlie, should we call someone about your class?"

"I'll call Amita. Maybe she's free." He reached in his pocket for his phone, but then realized it was on Ben's desk. I handed it to him. He dialed. "Hey, Amita... Yeah, I know I'm late for class. There's a problem. I'm in Ben's office... We're waiting for the paramedics and campus security to get here... Some guy came in here and stole the painting... He had a knife... Yeah, I was. I don't think it's anything serious, though. Hurts a lot. And the guy stabbed clean through Ben's hand... So, ah, do you think you could...? I owe you, Amita... Thanks..."

We heard noise in the hallway, and I went to the door to see campus cops and paramedics jogging toward me. I waved for them, then stuck my head back in the door. "Help is on the way!"

I sat next to Ben, holding his good hand while one paramedic worked on his injured hand. Across the room, I could see Charlie struggling out of his torn shirt so the paramedic could look at his injuries.

The paramedic unwrapped Ben's hand, and looked with amusement at my formerly white silk scarf. Ben noticed and squeezed my hand. "I'm sorry you had to ruin your scarf. I'll get you a new one."

He grimaced as the paramedic poked and prodded his hand. I squeezed his good hand. My hand was starting to shake. Ben squeezed my hand again. "It's all right, Maggie. Don't worry."

A campus cop, a young woman, said, "I'm sorry to interrupt. I'll need some information for my report."

Ben smiled at her, making note of her name on her name tag, "That's all right, Officer Mason. What do you need to know?"

"First, your name, address, position here at the college."

While Ben was giving her the mundane information, I walked over to see how Charlie was doing. His chest was swathed in bandages, and he was looking pale. I patted his hand. "How are you feeling, Charlie? You're not looking so hot."

"That's a good description. Not so hot. They want to take me in for a few stitches. I'm trying to convince them that I can drive."

"I don't think that's a good idea. I think Ben is going to have to go to the hospital, too. Why don't I drive both of you?" I looked at the paramedic. "Is that okay?"

He shrugged. "Fine with me." We'll just need the victims to sign statements waiving transport."

I squeezed Charlie's good shoulder. "I'll let you guys finish up. I'm going back to my husband."

When I sat back down beside Ben, Officer Mason had progressed to the more interesting questions. She had apparently asked Ben what had happened, and was taking detailed notes as he described the attack.

"This painting," she asked when he had finished, "was it valuable?"

Ben nodded sadly. "Valued in the millions. But it's even more valuable because it's evidence in one of the biggest museum burglaries in this country."

"I couldn't figure out why the FBI would be involved. Now I understand."


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

A few minutes later, the waivers were signed, and the paramedics left. The campus security officers chose to remain behind and wait for the feds to show up. I normally viewed campus security as a cross between Keystone Kops and mall security guards, but these three were very professional. Officer Mason sat with Officer Lukasiewicz, an older man with a bushy, graying mustache, and Officer Ballard, a stocky young black man. They compared their notes, and surreptitiously kept an eye on us.

Ben and I sat at his desk. I had gone back to refill the electric kettle, accompanied by Officer Mason, and made a pot of tea. The officers accepted instant coffee, and Charlie, Ben and I waited for our tea to steep. Charlie had put his blood-soaked shirt back on and moved to my desk chair, and was slouched back, with his feet on my desk, eyes closed. When I brought him his tea, he opened his eyes. "Hey, Charlie, are you okay?"

He nodded. "Yeah. This was so unexpected. I mean, Cal Sci is not a hotbed of crime. The worst thing that ever happens here is some student using what he learned in chem lab to blow up a men's room. Oh, and the pranks. But nothing like this." He shook his head. "Nothing like this."

I patted his hand. "But you're feeling okay, right? You lost a lot of blood."

"Yeah. How's Ben?"

Ben took a sip of steaming hot tea. "I'm fine. It's going to be hard to write for a while, but at least my fingers work." He wiggled them to demonstrate, then winced and stopped.

I took out the box of chocolate biscuits. "Here, " I offered the box to Ben, who shook his head. "Take one. I read someplace once that sugar is good for shock." Ben shrugged and took two. I held the box out to Charlie, and he took three.

"For medicinal purposes only," he said with a chuckle.

I sat back down and finished a biscuit in two bites. "Hey," I said as Ben glanced at me with raised eyebrows, "I'm in shock too, you know. Seeing you guys bleeding all over my nice new office..."

Just at that moment, Don, Colby, Megan and David arrived. The campus cops stood. Officer Lukasiewicz introduced himself and began, "We've taken statements from the victims, and..."

Don walked past Lukasiewicz as if he hadn't even seen him, and went straight to Charlie. "Charlie! Buddy! Are you okay?"

"I'm okay, Don. Really. When we're finished here, Maggie is going to take us to the hospital. I'm gonna need a few stitches, but it's really not as bad as it looks." He looked down at his torn and bloody shirt. "Really."

Don turned to Ben and me. "What the hell happened?" He hadn't yelled, but I could see his control beginning to break.

Ben could see it too. "Don, someone knew I had the painting here. A few minutes after we arrived, Charlie stopped by. Almost immediately, this man – whom I've never seen before – came in, demanded the painting, grabbed it, and when I tried to stop him, he stabbed me." He held up his left hand as exhibit one. "Then Charlie tried to stop him. He turned and slashed at him with the knife. Fortunately, Maggie had gone to fill the kettle."

"And when I was coming back, I saw the man with the painting, running the opposite way, toward the fire exit."

"The fire exit? Did the alarm go off?" Don asked.

"No. I didn't hear anything."

Don approached Officer Lukasiewicz. Belatedly he showed his badge. "I'm Don Eppes, with the FBI. Would an alarm usually sound if the fire exit door were opened?"

"It should, sir" Lukasiewicz replied. "I can check on it."

"That's okay. We'll be taking over now." Don seemed to realize the effect his words were having, so he paused. His voice softened. "I'm grateful you arrived here so quickly and secured the scene. When you write up your reports, I'd like to see copies of them. The painting that was stolen was evidence in at least one federal crime, so I'm afraid we'll have to have complete control of this crime scene."

Officer Lukasiewicz nodded. "I understand, sir."

"Call me Don."

"Don. We'll have our reports to you by this afternoon. If you don't need us ..."

"I think we're set here. Thanks again for your help."

After the campus cops left, Don sank into a chair. "This is not good," he said softly. "Listen, I want to let you guys go get taken care of." He glanced again at Charlie, who had leaned back with his eyes closed. "Maggie, why don't you take them to the hospital? We can talk later. Charlie?"

"Hmmm?"

"Charlie, can you direct Maggie, or do I need to give her directions?"

"I'll direct her." He stood, shakily. "I'm fine. Really."

"Yeah, right," Don said. "David, why don't you drive them, just in case. Maggie, would you mind staying here?"

I hesitated, looking at Ben. He nodded. "We'll be fine. A few stitches, a dose of antibiotics, two aspirin and call them in the morning."

"Okay," I hugged Ben as he stood. "If you're sure..."

"I'm sure." Ben kissed me and touched my cheek gently. "We'll be back soon. You do all you can to help Don find that painting."

"I will." I watched as they left, tears welling up in my eyes. When I sat back down, I buried my face in my hands, "I'm sorry," I said, rubbing my eyes.

Megan came and sat next to me. "It's okay. It's been a shock for you. The adrenaline is just wearing off. Why don't you drink your tea, and have another cookie?"

"Thanks," I took her advice, then I turned to Don who was waiting impatiently. "What can I do to help?"

"Why don't you start after Colby and I left yesterday. Did anyone else see you with the painting?"

"Amita came after you left. Larry was already here, if I remember correctly. Nobody else saw us with it. Ben put it back in the packaging you had it in before we left, so even if anyone saw him carrying it, they'd have no idea what it was. We went straight home, didn't have any company, and then came in this morning. We haven't seen or talked to anyone else. Charlie was the only person we saw on campus this morning."

"Yet this guy knew you had it," Don said. He looked at me, and I read accusation in his face.

"Yes, he knew somehow. And I am saying it had nothing to do with us. How many people in your office knew you were bringing the painting here, Agent Eppes?" I regretted the words as soon as they were out of my mouth. "I'm sorry..."

I was surprised when Don smiled. "No, I'm the one who should apologize, Maggie. Listen, not only was my brother hurt because of this, but I am going to be in serious trouble for bringing the painting here to begin with. But it's not right to take it out on you."

"Okay. We're in this together, right?"

"Right. The crime scene people will be going over your office. They'll disturb as little as possible, but it'll help if we have an idea of where everybody was. I know you weren't in the room when it happened, but where were Ben and Charlie when you did come into the room?"

I touched the blood stain on the desk. "Ben was standing here. At the desk. I think he was sitting when the thief came in. He said the guy grabbed the painting, and he put his hand on it to stop him. The guy stabbed through his hand, through the painting, and into the table." I looked at Colby. "If the crime scene folks are careful, you'll have a few paint chips and canvas fibers for your lab to test."

"I can think of easier ways to get them," Colby said with a wry smile.

"And Charlie?" Don asked.

"He was just inside the doorway. He was chasing the thief, but I ran into him. I think he was a little frustrated that I got in his way."

"Sounds like Charlie," Megan said, smiling.

Don nodded. "Yeah, it does." He looked up as Amita and Larry entered. "Hey," he greeted them.

"Where's Charlie?" Amita said. "He said he was hurt..."

"David took Charlie and Ben to the hospital," Don said. "He's going to be okay, Amita. He just needs some stitches."

Larry said, "That's excellent news, Don. But the painting. Amita said Charles told her it was taken. That is tragic news."

Don nodded. "True. It's very tragic news, Larry. You have no idea how tragic. Say, did either of you two mention the painting to anyone else?"

Larry's brow furrowed and he rested his mouth on his steepled fingertips as he thought. "No, I don't believe I mentioned it. We may have been discussing it in front of others, though. Amita, do you recall if we discussed the painting in front of anyone else?"

"We didn't. We discussed it here, we discussed it in Charlie's office. But that was it. And, Don, I didn't talk to anyone else about the painting."

Don leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. I suddenly felt bad for the man who had ticked me off just a few moments ago. "Don, would you like some coffee?"

"Sure. Thanks. Don't get up. I'll get it." He spooned instant coffee into a mug and added the still-hot water from the electric kettle, then he sat back down. "Amita, do you have any idea how the computer program is doing?"

She shook her head. "I haven't seen him yet this morning. When he called and asked me to take his class, he didn't mention it."

I said, "When he stopped by this morning, he said he had left the computer running the first test."

Don said, "That's good." Turning back to Amita he said, "You're familiar with the program, right? Would you be able to tell if it's finished what it was supposed to be doing?"

"I imagine Charlie was still tinkering with it last night, but I could have a look."

"Let's go have a look."

I watched as the others stood. "I hope you don't mind if I stay here. Just in case Ben tries to reach me?"

"Not at all," Don said. He gave me his card. "Call me if you hear anything, okay?"


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

I looked at Don's card – it had his office, home and cell numbers on it. I nodded. "I'll call you as soon as I hear from Ben."

Megan patted me on the shoulder as they left. I gave her what I hoped was a grateful smile.

When they were gone, the office seemed so quiet. I puttered around, picking up mugs, checking the tea pot. Then I glanced at my watch. Ben and I were scheduled to give our lectures in just a couple of hours. I called the department head, Dr. Louise Renihan. "Louise, this is Maggie Cole. I don't know if you've heard what happened. Ben was attacked in his office, and a painting he was examining was stolen. He's gone to the emergency room for a few stitches, but I don't know when he'll be back."

When I stopped to take a breath, Louise said, "Don't worry about it, Maggie. Do you think you'll be able to make it?"

"Yes, I think so. I don't know how long Ben will be, though."

"Why don't you call me about 1:30 and let me know if you've heard from him. I know how emergency rooms can be. He could be hours. And let me know then if you feel up to doing your part of the lecture. We can always reschedule if we need to."

"Thanks, Louise. I'll let you know."

"And, Maggie. I hope Ben is okay. You tell him we're sending good thoughts his way, okay?"

"Thanks, Louise. I will."

I started to sit at Ben's desk, and remembered that this was still a crime scene. So I went back to my desk, but Charlie's blood was on my chair, and I decided that wasn't such a good idea either. Finally I decided to lock the door and go to Charlie's office. Ben was more likely to call my cell phone than the office anyway. He probably wouldn't even remember the office phone number.

As I walked to Charlie's office, I heard voices behind me. I turned and saw Ben, Charlie and David coming down the hallway. I ran to greet them, and burst into tears as I gave Ben a huge hug. He hugged me and patted my back until I stopped sobbing. When I pulled away, he took my chin in his right hand and kissed me. "It's all right, Maggie. I'm fine. We're both fine."

I turned to look at Charlie. He had somehow found a different shirt, but he still looked pale and drawn. "Charlie, you don't look so hot," I wanted to kick myself. "That was a dumb thing to say. I'm sorry."

Charlie grinned, "Don't be. I don't feel so hot, so it's not surprising if I don't look so hot. Where were you heading?"

"I was going to join the crowd in your office. Amita took Don and the gang down to see how your computer program was doing. I'm surprised you're back so quickly."

David chuckled. "Well, things go faster when you can make a federal case out of it."

"What did you do?"

"I just told them the truth. These two gentlemen were victims in a crime under investigation by the FBI, and they needed to receive treatment immediately so they can come back here and assist in the investigation."

Ben put his arm across my shoulders as we walked. "He was very impressive."

"So what did the doctor say?"

"What could she say? David pulled rank."

"I mean about your injuries."

Ben gave me a reassuring squeeze. "Just as I thought – stitches, antibiotics, and well, they don't suggest aspirin because it thins the blood, but acetaminophen. And we don't have to call them in the morning. We do need to make appointments to have the stitches out, though." He wiggled his fingers. "Nothing broken, surprisingly, and no tendon damage." He nodded toward Charlie, "Charlie had a lot more stitches than I did, and he has to increase his fluid intake because of blood loss."

"I was lucky," Charlie said, "it was basically a glancing blow. It nicked my collar bone and a couple of ribs, but other than that it wasn't bad. Hurts like a son of a gun though. I don't think I'll be lifting weights any time soon."

We reached Charlie's office, and could hear the murmur of voices from inside. Ben and I let the office's owner enter first to the enthusiastic greetings of his friends. Amita tried to hug him, but he pulled back and murmured, "Not a good idea right now."

Don jumped up from Charlie's chair, "Here, buddy, I was keeping it warm for you. Amita's just showing us the results your program found on the sample you ran."

Charlie sat at the desk and turned his computer so he could see the results. Ben, David and I entered quietly. Charlie glanced up and said, "Ben, come and see this and see what you think. I believe the program has isolated the brushstrokes and eliminated the cracks. We compared the fake from the Victoria and Albert with the Chez Tortoni from the Gardner. When we get the scans of the genuine Manets we can compare them."

"What did the comparison show?" Ben asked.

Charlie pressed a few keys, and a wire frame sphere appeared on the screen. In and around the sphere were squares and circles. "The squares are the wavelets we isolated from the Chez Tortoni. We created the sphere to include all of the squares. As you can see, the circles are all outside of the circle. All that tells us is that the two paintings were not created by the same person."

Don leaned in to look at the screen. "But we can't tell if either painting is genuine."

"No. This is where we need experts like Ben. All the program does is look for consistencies in technique. Remember the runners on the beach? The first runner runs naturally. Any other runners trying to keep their footprints inside of the original runner's footprints are not going to be running naturally. When a painter is painting in his own style, he is relaxed and comfortable. His brushstrokes are consistent. If a painter is trying to copy someone else, well, it's like when you tried to forge Dad's signature on your report card..."

"I never forged Dad's signature!" Don said with a grin.

"Well, Mom's signature, then. You get the point. It's hard to copy someone else's style of writing. Your writing will look forced and unnatural. The same applies to paintings. So, using paintings the experts agree are genuine, we can compare those individual elements with paintings we are questioning. So far we have one we know is fake, and the one we're trying to authenticate. All we need are a few of the real thing to create the sphere."

"Okay. Colby, why don't you follow up with your friends at the museums? Meanwhile, we've got to figure out who stole the ... what was it called? ... Chez Tortoni? And why did they take it?"

Megan said, "Well, from what Ben and Charlie said about the guy, he knew exactly what he was looking for. He expected some resistance, otherwise he wouldn't have brought a knife. But he didn't expect the painting to be well-guarded. I'm guessing he expected professors, and not FBI agents. I don't know how much he knows about paintings, though."

"Why?" Don asked.

"Well, he stabbed the painting. If he knew the value of what he had, he would have been more careful with it."

"But," David said, "He was trying to stop Ben from taking the painting."

Ben shook his head. "Megan's right. If he truly valued the painting, he would never risk damaging it. If he were going to use the knife, he would have aimed someplace other than the hand that was holding the painting."

I glanced at my watch. It was quarter after one. "Ben, sorry to interrupt, but I promised I'd let Louise know whether we were going to be able to do our lecture at 2:00."

I could see the conflict in my husband's face as he weighed the options. This lecture was the reason we came to Cal Sci. But fate had dumped the chance of a lifetime in his lap. Finally, he decided. "Tell her we'll be there. Don, I'm sorry..."

"No, that's okay, Ben. I understand you have commitments."

Charlie poked his brother in the ribs. "How come you don't understand MY commitments, Don?"

Don laughed. "Because you're my brother."


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

We reluctantly took our leave and went back to our office to grab what we needed for our lecture. Fortunately, Ben had prepared a Powerpoint presentation for his lecture, so he wouldn't have to write. Unfortunately he had a big hole in the middle of his writing hand. I grabbed the printout of my notes – printed extra large so I could read them from the podium, and started to go through serious stage fright. I could handle students, but hostile academics were another thing altogether.

To make matters worse, the friendly faces I'd counted on were all working on what could be the solution to one of the biggest art crimes in US history.

Ben gave his part of the lecture first. He was a big hit with the scientists, especially when he brought up the work of Hany Farid as adapted by their own Charles Eppes. As I listened to Ben, I realized he had either understood a lot more of Charlies' work than I had, or he was better at faking it. When he finished, and started taking questions from the audience, it became clear that he really did have a good grasp on the connection between art and the sciences. The scientists were as impressed as I was, and they gave him a good round of applause when he finished.

Now it was my turn. I had to convince my audience that it made sense for mathematicians and scientists to learn how to draw and paint. I dove right in with a discussion of composition, the Golden Mean, and the work of Leonardo DaVinci. "Now," I continued, "you are probably wondering why on earth you should bother learning to draw and paint." A subdued chuckle ran through the crowd. I displayed copies of Leonardo's sketches of a glider. "Of course, I don't imagine anybody in this room is a budding Leonardo, but these drawings were clear and concise enough that Skysport Engineering was able, using only these drawings, along with materials that would have been available in Leonardo's day, to create this." I showed a video clip of the British TV special showing Skysport's glider flying.

"Now," I displayed another notebook page. "These incomprehensible scribbles were created by a scientist friend of mine. I have it on good authority that the ideas he has illustrated here are on the leading edge of his field. However, I also have it on good authority that if this notebook were to be unearthed 500 years from now, these illustrations would be worthless. What I propose is teaching your students the basics of making their illustrations as clear and concise as we hope their math or science is."

I glanced up and saw Charlie, Larry and Amita enter the auditorium. I gave them a quick smile and nod as they took seats. Then I taped a poster sized photograph of a chemistry experiment to one side of the whiteboard. "All right. This is something more familiar to you than it is to me." I started to sketch on the other half of the board, then turned to my audience. "Now, there are several ways I could draw this, depending on what I am trying to show. If I want to draw a still life, I'd put a lot of effort into shading, light, shadow and composition. However, if I were trying to illustrate my notes on this experiment, what would be the most important things to show?"

"What's in the beaker?"

"How much is in it? And what's in the test tube?"

"Good," I said as I sketched an oval with two lines extending down from it. Then I drew a half oval at the bottom. "There's our beaker." I drew another oval part way up. "And here's our liquid level." Then I drew very clear lines on the beaker, and labeled them. Then I drew an arrow pointing to the liquid level, and labeled it. "Water." I glanced back at my audience. "Actually, I have no clue what's in the beaker, but I hope your students will know."

I taped another photograph over the first, and erased my sketch. The photograph was a larger than life photograph of a dissected frog. My audience wasn't nearly as grossed out as I was. "Okay, on to another, more complicated sketch. The key is to get the proportions correct before starting the actual drawing." I drew a large rectangle, about the proportions of the frog. Then I drew a large vertical oval. "Here's his torso." And I added a smaller, horizontal oval on the top. "Here's his head." I then added the four legs. "Now, you don't have to draw these outline shapes, but you do have to see them. The key is to look at your subject, and, in your head or on paper, to break it down into its components. That way you don't end up with your frog hanging off the paper." After I sketched in the frog, I turned to the audience. "This is the basic idea. When I work with your students, I'll be having them work on examples suitable to their major. The ideal would be to have them work on their actual experiments. Now, are there any questions? Any comments?"

Charlie, Amita and Larry waited patiently as Ben and I finished our question and answer session, and met and chatted with some of the faculty. I was relieved to notice that the faculty seemed a lot more enthusiastic than they had been yesterday. Unfortunately, I was anxious to see how the discussion about the Manet had gone after we left.

Finally, the auditorium was clear except for the five of us. Charlie approached, looking worried. "Great lecture," he said absently. "Listen, Don needs to see us right away. He got a call after you left. The lead agent from the FBI Art Crimes unit showed up at Don's office, along with an expert the Gardner hired."

Ben gasped and then said softly, "Oh, shite!" He blushed and looked at the four of us. "I'm sorry. Who... who's their expert? Did he say?"

Charlie glanced at Larry and Amita. "He did say a name, but I don't remember."

Amita concentrated for a moment, then said, "Farnsworthy? Farnsworth?"

"Bloody 'ell," Ben said, "Jason Farnsworth?"

Charlie, Amita and Larry nodded. "Yes," Larry said, "That was the name. You obviously know him, Ben."

Ben nodded. "By reputation only. Two years ago, I found a previously undiscovered John Singer Sargent portrait. Dr. Farnsworth is one of the top Sargent experts in the world. I published my findings without consulting Farnsworth, and without even looking at the portrait, he published a blistering attack on my article."

I nodded. "He tore it to shreds. Apparently he was put out because Ben ask for Farnsworth's input."

Charlie asked, "So what did you do?"

"I called him and suggested he look at the portrait before he continued to make a fool of himself."

Larry shook his head. "I am surmising that your suggestion did not go over very well."

"Amazingly, he decided to go and have a look at the painting. He then published his own article, ignoring my findings and giving his own reasons that the painting was a genuine Sargent. I wonder if Farnsworth knows that I am Don's expert."

"He'll find out soon enough," Charlie said. "If you don't have anything going on this afternoon, Don wants us to grab our stuff and get over to his office right away."

We stopped at our offices, got our notebooks, printouts, and laptops, and went to Charlie's car. Ben and Charlie sat in the front, and Amita, Larry and I squeezed into the back seat. As he pulled out of his parking spot, Charlie said, "I have a feeling Don is going to get into trouble over this whole thing."

"True," Ben said. "Do you have any idea why he brought the painting here? The chain of evidence..."

"You do have clearance," Charlie said. "So the chain of evidence wasn't broken. Of course, it was broken when the painting was stolen. You know, I wonder if it would help Don if we had a sketch of the thief." He glanced at me in the rear-view mirror. "See. I was listening to your lecture."

"I didn't really get a good look at him," I said. "Ben, do you think you could..."

Ben wiggled his fingers, and said, "I'll give it a try. Do you have your sketchpad?" I dug in my bag and produced a sketchbook and pencil. Ben took the pencil gingerly in his left hand and made a few experimental lines on the paper. "I think this might work." He drew the outline of the face and gradually added features, closing his eyes to envision the thief, then opening them again and erasing a few lines, then adding a few more. Finally, when we were at a stop light, he showed the sketch to Charlie.

"I think his face was a little thinner," Charlie said, "But you're more visual than I am, so I defer..."

Ben had added a few more lines, thinning the face a bit. "Like that?"

Charlie nodded as the light turned green.

Ben held the pad out and squinted at it. "I think you're right," he said. He finished the sketch and showed it to Charlie again at the next light.

"Perfect," Charlie said. "That should help Don. I'm surprised we didn't think of this sooner."

"Well, Charles," Larry said, "to be fair, you have been a little preoccupied."


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

As we got closer to Don's office, I could feel the tension increasing. Charlie was drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. Ben was toying with the bandage on his hand. Finally, I said, "You know, none of this is our fault."

Charlie grinned and shook his head. "Of course it isn't. But I'm really not looking forward to meeting up with an angry FBI agent."

Ben chuckled. "Or a righteously indignant art expert."

"Well," Charlie said, "at least art experts aren't armed."

"They are, however very able character assassins," Ben said softly. "And in a field like ours, one's reputation is extremely important."

Charlie found a parking spot near the FBI building, and we dragged ourselves into Don's office. He was in the conference room with his team and a couple of people we had never seen before. They were engaged in a heated discussion, so we hesitated until Don looked up and saw us. He opened the door, and growled, "Come on in. Join the party."

He introduced us quickly. The unfamiliar man was Jason Farnsworth. The woman was Emma Galster, lead agent on the case from the FBI's art crimes squad. Emma looked angry. Farnsworth looked as if he were on the verge of winning a major battle. "Well, Dr. Cole," he said with a grin. "How nice to finally meet you. I've been telling Emma that I've had reservations about your methods for years, and now..."

"And now you believe you've finally got me where you want me?" Ben said, stepping forward to shake Farnsworth's hand. "I wouldn't be too hasty – again – if I were you."

"Dr. Cole," Emma Galster spoke, her voice as cold and hard as her expression. "This is a serious matter, involving..."

"I know what it involves, Agent Galster," Ben said softly. "We finally had what may be our first real clue to solving the theft in the Gardner. And we quite literally let it slip through our hands. But if we're going to waste our time assigning blame, then I might as well go back to my office and actually get some work done. I suggest we instead try to find out who did this and why, and do everything we possibly can to find that Manet and return it to its rightful owner."

Agent Galster had opened her mouth to interrupt Ben. When he finished speaking, she nodded. "You're right. There will be enough time later to issue reports and take disciplinary action. Now we need to find that Manet."

"Good," Ben said. "Now, on the way here, Charlie and I collaborated on a sketch of our thief." He took out my sketchbook and ripped out the page to hand to Don. "Agent Eppes, I'm sorry we didn't think of this sooner. This should help your team when you talk to potential witnesses."

Don took the sketch and looked at it. A smile slowly spread over his face. "Dr. Cole, this is an excellent sketch."

Galster and Farnsworth craned their necks to see Ben's drawing. Emma said, "Good. Agent Eppes, I want you ..."

Don interrupted her. "This is my case, Agent Galster. Your case is in Boston. I am dealing with the assault of these two victims and the theft of evidence in a drug investigation. Now, David, why don't you arrange to have copies made. I want you and Colby to go back to Cal Sci and talk to any potential witnesses. Also, transmit this sketch to LAPD and Interpol. Megan, check it against our files and see if we have anything on this guy."

As Don's team dispersed to handle their assignments, Farnsworth glared at Ben. "Well, Dr. Cole, were you able to discover anything before losing the painting?"

Ben smiled, refusing to be baited. "We did find out quite a bit. Dr. Eppes, here," he indicated Charlie, "has discovered a mathematical method of determining whether two paintings were produced by the same artist. We're planning on entering the data on several known Manets to compare them with the Chez Tortoni. You do understand that the Chez Tortoni that was seized in the drug raid might just be a forgery. It's possible that this is not the painting that was stolen from the Gardner."

Farnsworth looked stunned, but covered it quickly. "And did you have time to examine it before it was stolen from your office?"

"Yes. I was in the midst of examining it. I didn't find any evidence that it is NOT genuine, but Dr. Eppes' analysis should give us a definitive answer."

Agent Galster turned to Charlie. "And how is your analysis proceeding, Dr. Eppes?"

"Please, call me Charlie. I have entered the scan of the Chez Tortoni and a known forgery for comparison. When I get back to my office, I am hoping the scans of several genuine Manets will have arrived. If so, I will run the analysis and compare them with the forgery and with the Chez Tortoni." He placed his laptop on the table and turned to Don, "Would you like me to show Agent Galster and Dr. Farnsworth what we've done so far?"

"I think that would be a good idea," Don said with a nod. "Let's all have a seat." We waited silently as Charlie hooked his computer up and turned it on.

As the computer went through its bootup cycle, Charlie looked at Farnsworth and Galster. "I am a professor of applied mathematics at Cal Sci. Building upon the work of Dr. Hany Farid, I designed an algorithm to compare the brushstrokes of different paintings. With the help of my colleagues, Dr. Ramanujan and Dr. Fleinhardt, we tweaked the program so it would eliminate surface cracks and dirt, and concentrate only on the artist's brushstrokes." The computer finished booting, and Charlie typed in a series of commands. The screen on the wall in front of us came to life, and displayed Charlie's sphere. "Comparing a known forgery from the Victoria and Albert with our Chez Tortoni, we found a distinct difference."

Agent Galster shook her head. "That's incredible, Charlie. So you can tell which one is real?"

"No. I can only tell that they were done by different people. Or by the same person at radically different stages of his career."

Farnsworth scowled at Charlie. "What do you mean? Surely an artist's stroke is as distinctive as a signature..."

Ben interrupted. "But even our signatures change over time. And, surely, Dr. Farnsworth, you are not going to claim that Picasso's blue period brushstrokes would be identical to his cubist brushstrokes."

"Of course not," Farnsworth snapped. "I am just questioning the value of this, this arithmetic in telling whether the Chez Tortoni is genuine."

Don, Amita and Larry all stared at Charlie, waiting for his reaction. Don had a hard time suppressing a grin.

Charlie rose, drawing himself to his full height, and stood next to the screen. "This 'arithmetic' as you call it was never intended to tell if any particular painting was genuine. Instead, it compares several sets of brushstrokes, and gives us the ability to determine if those strokes were produced by the same hand. We still need art historians to give us the baseline for comparison. So," Charlie added with a smile, "you don't have to worry about technology eliminating your job."

Agent Galster glared at Farnsworth, then turned to Charlie. "How do you deal with the problem of artists' techniques changing?"

"We would select paintings done in a style similar to our target painting. I would have to defer to Dr. Cole in making the selection."

Ben nodded. "We are going to two local museums tomorrow to examine their Manets. If they are similar in date and style to the Chez Tortoni, they'll give us a good basis of comparison."

"Then I can concentrate on the scans of the similar paintings That will speed things up considerably."

Agent Galster turned to Don. "It looks as if your team is handling this quite well. I would like to be kept in the loop," she raised her hand to stop Don from interrupting. "Not so I can interfere with your drug case and your assault case, but because what you discover may help me with my case."

Don nodded. "Okay. I'll keep you informed every step of the way. When are you returning to Boston?"

Farnsworth glanced at Ben. "Well, I would like to stay until this is resolved. Perhaps IF Agent Eppes is able to retrieve the Chez Tortoni, we could take it back to the Gardner with us."

"WHEN we recover the painting, it will have to remain here until after the trial. It is evidence in a couple of pretty serious felonies." Don turned to Agent Galster. "And I promise that we will take very good care of the painting this time. As I explained to you earlier, we didn't realize that anyone outside of our office knew of the whereabouts of the painting. Obviously, someone else was aware that our consultant had the painting in his possession. Next time we will not make those kind of assumptions."

"You'd better not," Agent Galster said softly. "Remember I am reserving the right to file a complaint against you. After we resolve your case."


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Charlie sighed, an explosive release of air, as we stepped into the lobby. "That could have gone better."

Amita smirked at him. "I couldn't believe that Farnsworth jerk criticizing your 'arithmetic.' I'm surprised he was still breathing when you finished with him."

Charlie chuckled. "Yes, I do tend to react strongly when I'm criticized, don't I? I hope I didn't cause problems for Don."

"Oh, I'm sure he can handle it!" Amita said. "And, Ben, it looks like Farnsworth put your hackles up, too."

"He does have a way of doing that, doesn't he?" Ben said. "Of course, he did have a head start with me. But I am glad I wasn't the only one who has that reaction to him."

"You know, Charles," Larry said, "Dr. Farnsworth does bring to mind your old friend, Dr. Penfield."

Charlie rolled his eyes. "Oh, please, don't bring him up!"

Of course, I couldn't let that go. "Who is Dr. Penfield?"

Larry replied when it became clear that Charlie was not going to. "Well, Maggie, Charles is convinced that Marshall Penfield has only one mission in life, and that is to ruin Charles' reputation. Look at it this way: Penfield is to Eppes as Farnsworth is to Cole."

"Oh, my," I whispered. "So, Charlie, do you still think an FBI agent is more frightening than an indignant intellectual?"

"Yes, I do. At least I'm armed to do battle with an intellectual. And I thought dealing with Farnsworth was fun, not frightening." Charlie unlocked the car as we approached. "Ben, you still want shotgun?"

"Shotgun?" Ben asked. "What's that mean?"

Larry, never one to leave a question unanswered, said, "The term originated in the American west, when driving a stagecoach was a very risky endeavor..."

Charlie, Amita and I busied ourselves getting into the car and ignored the lecture. Ben, however, was delighted to learn a bit of Americana. "That is fascinating indeed, Larry. I hope it isn't inconvenient for the rest of you if I take shotgun again."

"Not at all," Amita replied. "You are a lot taller than the rest of us, Ben. If you were in the back seat, your chin would be resting on your knees."

Ben gave Amita a little bow and took his place in the front passenger's seat. Charlie started the car, and glanced back at us. "Back to Cal Sci?" Hearing our chorus of yeses, he headed back to campus. "So, Ben, do you think we're going to have trouble with Farnsworth?"

"Unfortunately, yes. His ego is too big to let us solve the Gardner theft. What do you think of Agent Galster?"

"She seems really mad at Don, but I don't think she's holding it against us. She seemed genuinely interested in our program."

"That's good. You know, I just had a thought," Ben said suddenly. "The man who attacked us and stole the painting – it is possible he was involved with the men who robbed the Gardner. I remember reading the descriptions on the FBI website. If I remember correctly, they were both in their 20's or 30's. Charlie, do you have any idea how old our attacker was? I'm terrible with ages."

Charlie shrugged. "I didn't really pay attention. The thieves wouldn't be that old now – mid thirties to mid forties. So he could fit in that range."

"Maybe we should have Don send the sketch to the Boston police. Just in case."

"That's a great idea." Charlie shifted his grip on the steering wheel and took his cell phone from his pocket. "Hey, Don. Sorry to interrupt you... Okay... Yeah... But, listen... Okay." He shut his phone. "He's busy. He said he'll call me back when he's free."

"Probably dealing with the dragon lady and Ego Man," I said with a grin. "I would not change places with him on a dare!"

When we arrived at Cal Sci, we all headed toward Charlie's office. He wanted to check his email to see if the scans had arrived yet. The two scans from the Getty Museum had arrived, and he pulled them up on his screen. The first painting was a watercolor called "The Bullfighter." It was painted thirteen years before the Chez Tortoni, and in a different medium. The second, "The Rue Mosnier with Flags" was an oil, painted around the same time as the Chez Tortoni.

Charlie and Amita went to work loading the scan into their program. Larry, Ben, and I sat and watched.

"You know, Ben," Larry said, "your concept of the arts and the sciences working together is intriguing. If I remember correctly, you did say you were interested in having someone from Cal Sci visit at your college. If I am able to clear my schedule, I believe I would be interested in taking you up on that."

"We would love to have you visit," Ben said. "Maggie and I have three spare bedrooms, and we'd be more than willing to provide accommodations during your visit. We live a half mile from campus."

Charlie glanced up from his computer. "If I were you, I'd get to know Larry's quirks a little better before inviting him into your home."

"Charles! I do not have quirks!"

Amita laughed, "Larry, you are one walking, talking quirk!"

"Oh, Amita! You wound me!"

"Well, we do have time to make our arrangements," I said. "Charlie, how's the program coming?"

"I think it's about ready to run. What do you think, Amita?"

Amita leaned closer to look at the screen. "Yeah, I think you've got it. Now we just let 'er rip."

I laughed. "Is that a programming term?"

Charlie pressed a few keys, and grinned. "Yep." He glanced at his watch. "It'll take a few hours. Anyone want to go get supper? My treat? Is Italian okay with you guys?"

We all agreed, and Charlie and Amita led the way to a cute little place two blocks from campus. It was crowded, full of students and faculty, so we sat in a little park across the street as we waited. "Not bad tonight," Charlie said, "Just a 20 minute wait. So, Ben and Maggie, are we still on for our museum day tomorrow?"

"Definitely," Ben said. "I've never visited either museum, and I am looking forward to it. Have you gone there before, Charlie?"

"No, I can't say I have. I'm not exactly a museum kind of guy. How about you, Larry? Have you ever visited the Getty or the Norton Simon?"

"Oh, yes. They both have wonderful collections. And the architecture of both museums is incredible! The Getty is made of travertine marble, sixteen thousand tons of marble, and has an amazing view of the city. The Norton Simon is not as impressive architecturally, but the gardens are beautiful."

Charlie's cell phone rang. "Hello?" he answered. "Oh, yeah, hi, Don!... No, we're at Rosario's. The Getty sent me their scans, and we have the computer running its analysis... No, we haven't even been seated yet. You want to join us?... Sure! Great! See you in a few." He closed his phone. "Don is at my office. He's going to walk over here and join us. Let me tell the hostess we'll need a table for six instead of five. Be right back!"

Ben and I exchanged relieved glances. "Well," I said, "It sounds like Don's alone. That's a good sign."

"True. I don't think a meal with – what did you call them? The Dragon Lady and Ego Man? -- would be all that pleasant."


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Don arrived before we were paged. He looked totally wiped out. Ben stood to greet him and offered him his seat. "You look like you need it," he added.

"Thanks. It has not been a good day," Don said as he sat heavily on the bench. "Charlie, sorry I didn't get back to you."

"That's okay. We just had a thought about the sketch Ben did of the thief. If he was involved with the theft from the Gardner, the Boston police might recognize him."

"That's a good idea. Just a second." He took out his phone and took care of it. "Thanks, Charlie. So how long will it be before your program comes up with something?"

"A couple of hours. That's why we figured we'd take a break and get something to eat."

"Sorry. I don't mean to pressure you." Don rubbed his forehead. "Just because I'm getting dumped on doesn't mean I should pass it on to you guys."

"That's okay. We'll have a nice, quiet, relaxing evening, then we'll go back to my office and watch the computer compute. If that doesn't knock you out, nothing will," Charlie said with a grin.

"Eppes, party of six!" a voice called from across the street.

Rosario's was a quaint little place with red checked cotton table cloths, tacky metallic wallpaper, and incredibly good food and wine. I've never found a red wine I liked, so Charlie ordered a nice riesling, along with two bottles of his favorite red. Don took his tie off and stuck it in the pocket of his suit jacket, then took a deep drink of wine. He leaned back and smiled. "What say we don't discuss the case for a while?"

"Sounds good to me," Ben said.

We studied our menus for a while. The locals all recommended the Tuscan Platter, the specialty of the house, and Ben and I gladly accepted their recommendation. After we placed our orders, Don said, "So, Ben, Maggie, how do you like LA?"

"Well," I said, "We really haven't been here long enough to see much. But Charlie is taking us to a couple of museums tomorrow."

"Let me guess. The Getty and the Norton Simon, right?"

"Good sleuthing, Agent Eppes," I said as I toasted him with my riesling. "But I do hope to see some of the other sights while we're here. I've actually never been west of the Mississippi before."

"Do you like baseball?" Don asked.

"Love it! Unfortunately, I'm a Yankees fan... "

"That's okay. I'll see if I can get you guys tickets to a Yankees/Angels game. How's that sound?"

"Oh, I'd love it! Will I get killed if I wear my Yankees hat?"

"Don't worry, dear," Ben said, "we'll be with an armed agent, won't we?"

"Are you a baseball fan?" Don asked Ben.

"Maggie is teaching me the fine points of the game. Though it's not nearly as exciting as soccer."

"True," Charlie said, "but baseball is the most statistically driven game. It's a mathematician's dream!"

"So, baseball it is!" Don said with a chuckle. "I'll check the schedule and see what I can do."

The waitress started bringing our meals. The Tuscan Platter was incredible – chestnut ravioli, prosciutto bruschetta, and Tuscan chicken. It was served with baskets of bread and bowls of salad. I had never had anything quite so tasty before. When we finished, Charlie, our host, leaned back in his chair and said, "Anybody for dessert?"

We all declined and Charlie took the check without letting any of us see it. "I said it was my treat," he said.

As we walked back to campus, Don stretched and said, "Thanks, Charlie. That was a great idea. I feel almost human again!"

Author's Note: Like Maggie, I've never been west of the Mississippi. The restaurant and its menu are pure fiction. Just wait until I have the gang visit two museums I've never seen... I also have absolutely no clue how long Charlie's program would take to do its thing.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

We walked quietly across the darkening campus, groggy from a long, busy day and a huge meal. Charlie fumbled for his keys when we reached his office. He dropped heavily into his chair and rubbed absently at his chest while staring at his computer screen. In the bright office light, I finally noticed again how pale he looked. I glanced at Ben and noticed that he looked almost as bad as Charlie did.

"Amita," I said, smiling, "I think we'd better take our men home and let them recover from this long, long day." Amita and Charlie exchanged shocked glances. "I'm sorry. I believe I've spoken out of turn."

"No, no, not at all," Charlie stammered. "Um, I think it's almost done. I'm going to hang around and wait for it to finish. You guys can go home if you want."

Ben pulled a chair over so he could watch the screen with Charlie. "I'd like to stay, if it's all right." He glanced from Charlie to me.

"It's fine with me," I said. "I'd really like to see what it comes up with. But I thought you and Charlie might be about tapped out, after all you went through today."

Charlie looked up at me and smiled. "There's always time to sleep later. This is exciting enough to keep me here for hours."

I couldn't tell if he was serious at first, but when he settled back, watching the screen like it was the seventh game of the World Series, I knew he was. Don moved to stand behind Charlie, and looked up with a wry grin. "I don't know, Charlie, it looks pretty boring to me."

"Well, you're just not seeing the potential, Don," Charlie said with a chuckle. "Admittedly, what's going on on the screen is not all that exciting. It's knowing what it's doing that's exciting." He leaned back in his chair and put his feet up on the desk. "So, Maggie, Ben, why don't we make our plans for tomorrow while we're waiting? Where are you staying?"

I gave Charlie the address of the condo we were subletting for the semester. It was close to campus, so Charlie suggested he pick us up at 9 so we could drive to the museums together. We settled on going to the Getty first, then the Norton Simon, and then to Charlie's house for supper. "I think you'll like my house, by the way. It's one of those awesome arts and crafts style homes, with lots of natural wood and exposed beams. I bought it from my dad, and he still lives there with me." He said that last almost defensively, and I got the impression he had taken a lot of grief about still living with his father at his age.

"Well," Ben said, "I can't wait to see it, and I can't wait to meet your father. He must be an extraordinary man to have raised two such diverse sons and still be on good enough terms to live with one of you."

"He is." Charlie glanced at his watch. "If you'll excuse me, I'll give him a call and let him know not to hold dinner for me. He still cooks like he's cooking for an army." He flipped his phone open and dialed, keeping one eye on the computer screen. "Hi, Dad... Good. I just ate... Yeah, working late on another one of Don's cases... No, I'll be home in a little while. We're just taking a break, waiting for the computer to finish doing its thing... Say, Dad, I'll be bringing a couple of friends home for supper tomorrow... No, they're a couple of visiting professors from New York... No, believe it or not, they're art professors... Yeah, teaching at Cal Sci... Hey, Dad, my program just finished running... Don't wait up for me. I'm not sure how long we'll be at it... Okay. I'll see you later." He hung up and looked up at us. "He can't wait to meet you. Said he's glad I'm broadening my horizons by taking an interest in the arts. If only he could see what I've done to these paintings" He stood and turned the computer so we could see the screen. "All right, I had the program recalculate the sphere based on the new painting, the Rue whatever it is. The wavelets are represented by triangles." The triangles were all enclosed in the 72 sided sphere. Also floating inside the sphere were a group of squares.

Ben pointed at the monitor. "Are those squares still the Chez Tortoni?"

"Yes, and, as you can see, they fall within the parameters of the genuine Manet. The circles are the fake from the Victoria and Albert."

"So it looks like if the Rue whatever is real, so's the Chez Tortoni," Don said. "That's great, Charlie!"

Charlie looked sheepishly at Don. "The only problem is, that means the painting we let slip though our fingers is probably the painting that was stolen from the Gardner. Which means you're going to be in trouble..."

"Let me handle that, Charlie," Don said softly. "This is still great news. So, how sure are you of these findings?"

"I'll know more when we get the other scans. The more data I have the more accurate the results will be." Charlie sat down and turned the monitor back to face him. "I'm just going to make a few refinements..."

Larry was the first to leave. "I'm sorry, Charles, but I must get back to my office and finish some work I've put off far too long."

"Hmm?" Charlie said, glancing up. "Oh, right. Would you like to join us tomorrow?"

"I would enjoy it immensely, Charles. Call me when you leave Ben and Maggie's and I'll meet you at the Getty. Goodnight, all."

"Goodnight." Charlie turned back to his work.

Amita stood and squeezed Charlie's shoulder. "I'm going to head home, Charlie. It's been a long day. You'd better get some rest, too. You're looking..."

Charlie looked up at Amita and patted her hand. "I'm fine. Say," his eyes lit up, "would you like to come with us tomorrow? I could pick you up..."

Amita smiled, "I'd love to."

"Great! I'll pick you up on the way to get Ben and Maggie. Say, 8:30?"

"8:30 it is!" Amita said, "Now, save your work, get home and get some rest." She turned to me and winked. "And, Maggie, I suggest you get your man home, too."

"Works for me," I said, standing and taking Ben's hand – his right hand – and helping him to his feet. "Let's get you home, sweetheart. Amita, let's walk to the lot together."

Don had taken the seat Ben had vacated, next to Charlie. He looked up and gave us a little wave. "Goodnight, everybody. I'll make sure Charlie finishes here in time to pick you up."


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

The next morning, I woke as soon as my alarm went off. I turned the alarm off immediately, to avoid waking Ben, who still snored gently beside me. I resisted the urge to ruffle his sandy hair, and instead touched his forehead with my lips before I tiptoed to the bathroom. When I returned, toweling my hair, he still hadn't stirred. I sat beside him, and kissed him on the cheek. "Time to rise and shine, sleeping beauty."

"Mmmm," he stirred and reached up to grab me. He gasped as his left hand made contact with my shoulder. His eyes opened and he scowled at his hand. "Ouch," he said, annoyed. "I forgot about that."

"Why don't you take your pain pill before your shower? Then afterwards, I'll put a clean bandage on it. Charlie and Amita will be here in an hour, so get a move on."

"Good thing you thought to stop and get some first aid supplies on the way home last night." He stood, and leaned down to kiss me. "You're a wonderful, thoughtful lady. Have I told you that before?"

"I don't remember. Why don't you tell me again, just to be sure?"

He kissed me again, and whispered, "You're a wonderful, thoughtful lady, and I love you very very much. Now I think I'll find my pain pills and take a nice warm shower."

I had almost finished drying my hair when Ben returned from the shower, wrapped in his terry bathrobe. He had taken the bandage from his left hand, and carried the bag with the gauze, tape and antibiotic ointment in his right hand. "Nurse Cole, I come bearing your tools," he said as he sat on the bed. "Fix me."

I sat beside him, took his left hand and gently turned it over and back again, wincing as I looked at both sides of the wound. "Looks sore, but at least it doesn't look infected. I'd kiss it to make it better, but it looks too gross."

Ben chuckled. "You're right about it looking gross. Why don't you kiss me here," he tapped his lips with his finger, "instead."

I complied with my patient's wishes. "There, does that feel better?"

"Much, thank you, nurse. Now, I suggest you get back to more conventional treatment, or we'll never be ready when Charlie and Amita arrive."

Biting my lip, I spread ointment on both sides of the wound, trying and failing to keep from hurting Ben. "I'm sorry," I whispered as he gasped.

"Don't worry about it," he said softly. "I know you're doing the best you can, nurse."

I finished with the ointment, folded a gauze pad, placed it in the palm of his hand, then placed a couple of gauze pads on each side of his hand, and wrapped the tape around and around. He wiggled his fingers, and gave me a kiss. "Thank you, nurse."

"Dr. Cole, do you always kiss the nurses?"

"Only you, dear. Only you." He stood selected his clothes. Before long, he stood before me in jeans and black t-shirt. "How's this? Appropriate for a day of museum crawling?"

"Perfect." I chose black boot cut jeans and a red t-shirt. Ben loves the way I look in red. We had just finished a quick breakfast of tea and bagels when Amita and Charlie arrived.

Charlie was handsome in jeans, t-shirt and sport jacket. I could make out the edges of bandages under the t-shirt. He looked like he felt a lot better than he had yesterday. Amita was casually stunning, as usual. If she wasn't such a sweet girl, I could really work up a hatred of her perfect looks. They were such a cute couple. I ushered them into the kitchen, where Ben was loading the dishwasher.

"Did you have breakfast," I mother-henned them.

"Yep," Amita said. "Charlie brought bagels and Starbucks. So we're good."

"You know," Ben said. "I've been thinking. Why don't we take our car? It's got more room. If you don't want to navigate, Charlie, you can drive. I'm not one of those obsessive car owners."

"Yeah, we could do that," Charlie agreed easily. "It's not a stick shift, is it?"

"No," I said with a grin. "I wanted a stick, but Ben insisted on automatic." I helped Ben finish putting things away as we talked. "There," I said, closing the dishwasher. "I think that's it."

Ben grabbed his man-purse and handed Charlie his keys. I locked the apartment, and we took the elevator down to the parking garage. "It's over there," Ben said, pointing at the silver Mercedes M-class SUV.

Charlie's eyes widened. "You sure you want me driving that behemoth?"

"Sure. Just don't try to parallel park until you're a little more accustomed to it," Ben said with a grin. He shrugged. "Maggie and I decided to drive here instead of flying, so we wanted something comfortable, and big enough to lug our stuff."

Amita said, "Well, it sure is big. What made you decide to drive here?"

"Well, as Maggie has mentioned, she's never been west of the Mississippi. Her knowledge of her native land was pitiful, so we decided to broaden her education."

I laughed, "We broadened it by driving for hours and hours through the most boring, flat landscape in the midwest."

"Of course," Ben added as Charlie unlocked the doors. "We also drove through some of the most amazing scenery, too."

"True."

"Amita, why don't you take shotgun?" Ben said, opening the front passenger's door for her. "Charlie knows his way, and there's plenty of leg room in the back seat."

"Thanks, Ben," she said as she climbed into the seat.

"Don't thank me. This give me a chance to sit next to my lovely wife," Ben said as he climbed into the seat beside me. "Charlie, I promise I will not be a back seat driver. Do with this behemoth as you wish."

It took Charlie just a few minutes to learn where everything was. He backed out of the spot and pulled out of the garage without incident. True to his word, Ben ignored Charlie's driving and concentrated instead on conversation. "So, Charlie," he said when we were safely on the highway, "Did you find out anything more about the case?"

"Yeah," Charlie said, glancing at Ben in the rearview mirror. "Don called me this morning. Apparently the Boston authorities recognized the guy in your sketch. He's apparently well known to them for his work in assaults and robberies."

"So," Ben said thoughtfully, "The connection does go back to Boston. And the Gardner. Was there any Boston connection with Don's drug bust?"

"I don't know. He didn't say."

"Art theft has been tied to the drug trade for years now," Ben added. "It's possible the Gardner theft was linked to drugs. There's a lot of money in art."

"But," Amita turned back to face Ben. "How can they make money off objects that well known? It seems that it would be hard to sell the paintings when everybody knows where they came from."

"Of course, they wouldn't get 'market value' for the paintings. But there are enough private buyers with very private collections to give the thieves a very nice income."

Amita's eyes widened. "They knowingly buy stolen art? Why?"

"Pride, mostly. The idea that they can own something so rare and valuable. It doesn't matter to them that they can never tell anyone they have a particular painting. They own it, and that's enough for them."

"How do the thieves find these collectors?" Charlie asked.

"The thieves know dealers who are less than honest. The collectors also know these dealers. Commissions and finder's fees change hands, and the right seller is put in touch with the right buyer."

"That's amazing."

I squeezed Ben's right hand. "Ben helped send one of those shady dealers to prison."

"Really?" Charlie asked. "You've got to tell us the story, Ben."

"Not a lot to tell," Ben said. "I worked for a New York dealer, Nicholas Penworthy. I stumbled across some forged paintings hidden in the storage room. They were copies of paintings we had for sale in the gallery, in varying degrees of completion. Apparently, Nicholas would commission the copies, and sell several copies of the same painting to different customers."

Charlie whistled. "Was that your first experience with forgeries?"

"No. I made quite a name for myself back home in Oxford when I worked in the Ashmolean Museum. That was when I started buying Mercedes Benzes. Then, when I decided to leave England and move to the US, my reputation followed me. I don't understand why Nicholas hired me, knowing I was so good at spotting forgeries."

Amita shook her head. "That does seem strange. Do you think he saw it as a challenge to his skill as a thief?"

"Could be. I just wish he'd found himself another expert to toy with. That soured me on the whole art trade. That's when I decided to go back to teaching."

"And the art trade followed you," Amita said softly.

"It certainly did," I said. "It followed him to Upstate. A couple of years ago, he encountered the same forger who worked for Penworthy. They had never found out who the forger was. Penworthy kept it secret, and took the fall for the whole thing himself. The forger took a job as a security guard at Upstate, stealing the paintings from our gallery and replacing them with forgeries."

"Well," Charlie said as he pulled into the parking lot of the Getty. "It certainly does make life more interesting. I've found that since I've been working with Don, I've felt more alive, more like I'm making a contribution to society. Teaching is a lot safer, but it does lack the thrill of helping track down a criminal."

"Well, it is a thrill, but I'm not sure if I can take the stress it brings," Ben said as he squeezed my hand.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Charlie paid the $7 parking fee and parked the behemoth. He pointed to a hulking mass of marble buildings on the hilltop above us. "That's the Getty Center."

I stared, amazed. "It looks like some futuristic city. How do we get there from here?"

"We take the tram. Come on," Charlie said, leading the way. Once we reached the top, we could see the ocean, the mountains, and the incredible gray mass of highways that defined the city of Los Angeles below us. Ahead of us, across the arrival plaza, was the museum. It seemed to grow from the marble of the plaza, in a two-story mass of marble and glass.

As we walked from the tram stop to the arrival plaza, we heard Larry calling Charlie's name. He was approaching us from the gardens, waving and smiling. "Ah, you've finally arrived! I was beginning to wonder..."

"Larry, we're five minutes early," Charlie said with a huge grin. "Have you explored everything without us?"

"Only the gardens. Charles, they have the most amazing collection of plants. The azaleas alone are truly incredible."

"Larry, I didn't know you were interested in plants," Amita said, exchanging amused glances with Charlie.

"Oh, I wasn't until today. The sensory stimulation is just incredible. The sights, sounds, smells! You must come and experience this!" Without waiting for an answer, Larry led the way to the garden.

Charlie turned to us, shrugging. "I guess we're going to see the garden first. Maybe I'll get some ideas for my yard..."

Reminding me of the White Rabbit rushing ahead of Alice, Larry led us down a tree-lined pathway to a massive bowl of a garden. As we exited the trees, we were led to a large stone plaza, lined with the most bizarre Alice in Wonderland trees I had ever seen. On closer inspection, they weren't trees at all, but tall arbors made of steel rebars – the kind of bars that were used to reinforce concrete. The arbors looked like giant steel mushrooms, filled with brilliantly blooming red bougainvilleas. From there, the path led down into the bowl of the garden, criss-crossing a stream that meandered to fill the bottom of the bowl. In the bowl, was a floating maze of azaleas.

Once I had taken it all in, I turned to Larry. "You were right, Larry! This is an incredible experience." I turned to Charlie with a grin. "Got any ideas for your garden, Charlie?"

He shook his head. "I don't think my yard is big enough for something like this."

We headed back up the pathway to the museum, pausing to pick up guide books. In my research in museology, I had read that the Getty was one of the most confusing museums to navigate. Its traffic patterns were not designed for visitor convenience. Ben consulted the guide book quickly, and said, "Since our primary purpose here is to see the Manets, why don't we go there first, and then see the rest of the collection?"

We all agreed with the plan, and, following the map like an ancient explorer, Ben led us to the impressionist gallery. I was distracted by the van Gogh iris painting, but Ben playfully dragged me to the Manet. Larry had already begun to explain the science of impressionism to Charlie and Amita. "In 1886, an American chemist and physicist, Helen Cecilia de Silver Abbott, wrote a pamphlet called 'Science and Philosophy in Art,' in which she defended impressionism from a scientist's point of view. And the French impressionists obtained a copy of this pamphlet and distributed it very enthusiastically. The impressionists were fascinated by the physics of light and color, and some of them approached their work in a very scientific manner." Larry noticed Ben standing beside him, and stopped his lecture. "I'm sorry, Ben. I didn't mean to..."

"Not a problem, Larry. I actually didn't know Helen Abbott was a physicist. Have you read her work?"

"Oh, yes. She really understood the science behind impressionism."

"So," Charlie said, with a hint of impatience, "Ben, what was Manet trying to do here?"

"Well, like all the impressionists, Manet wanted to make his color come alive. And the way, to their minds, that color comes alive is by having the viewer's eye actually blend the colors. They intended their paintings to be viewed from a distance, but if you lean in close, you'll see individual dashes of color. As we step back, " he said, walking slowly backwards, "you'll notice that the individual dashes disappear, and you start to see the cohesive image Manet intended you to see."

"And," I added, "your program has zeroed in even closer than we could go, and has analyzed each of Manet's brushstrokes." I pulled a magnifying glass out of my purse, turned so the security guard could see what I was doing, and stepped back closer to the painting. She tensed as I focused the magnifier a few inches from the surface I motioned for Charlie to come and take the magnifier from me. "Here, now you can see not only the strokes, but the nuances of those strokes. That is what your program has defined mathematically."

"Amazing," Charlie whispered as he took the magnifier and leaned closer to the painting. "I can see it." He reached to touch the painting.

"Sir!" the nervous guard cautioned. "Please do not touch the painting."

Charlie stepped back and turned to flash an apologetic grin at the guard. "I am so sorry. I got carried away. I won't do that again."

The woman relaxed a bit and returned the smile. "Thank you, sir. These paintings are very valuable, and fragile."

"I understand," Charlie said. He turned back to Ben, handing him the magnifier. "You've examined the ... ah ... the other painting up close. What does your eye tell you? I mean, outside of what my computer tells you?

Ben leaned in to have a look, careful to stay far enough away from the painting to satisfy the guard. "Offhand, I would say the styles are similar – accounting for the difference of subject. The strokes are loose and comfortable. I would guess that if it weren't Manet, the artist was not consciously trying to copy Manet. He has Manet's distinctive style of handling certain elements." Ben glanced up and noticed we had collected a small crowd of museum patrons, who apparently were fascinated by the discussion of forged Manets. He straightened and handed me my magnifier. "I am sorry. Are we in your way? Just an intellectual exercise, not an actual lecture on the schedule. Excuse us." He moved away from the Manet and we scattered for a few moments until the curious bystanders went their ways.

Just then, Charlie's cell phone sounded. The guard and the other patrons scowled at him as he pulled the phone from his pocket. "Sorry," he whispered as he headed toward the hallway. He looked over at Ben. "It's Don. I really should see what he wants. I'll take it out here. Sorry to disturb everybody."

As he slunk toward the hallway, the guard said, "Please turn it off before you return, sir."

Charlie waved and nodded in her direction, but he was already speaking quietly and earnestly to his brother.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Ben stood in front of the Monet painting of the Rouen Cathedral with a wistful look on his face. I moved in beside him and squeezed his hand. "Brings back memories, doesn't it?"

He nodded. "Not all of them good."

Larry and Amita had come over to join us, and Larry asked, "What memories, Ben?"

"This is part of a series of approximately thirty paintings Monet did of the Rouen Cathedral under many different conditions. Remember the forgery at our college I told you about? It was one of Monet's Rouen Cathedrals."

Amita nodded. "I can see why you have mixed emotions about this painting. But why did Monet paint so many of them?"

"Monet loved experimenting with the effects of light. He actually rented a room across from the cathedral and spent months painting the facade under different atmospheric conditions. He had canvases set up in his room, and would work on one until the lighting changed significantly and then switch to another."

"Sorry for the interruption," Charlie said as he re-joined us.

"Charlie," Amita said, "what's wrong? You look upset."

He waved his hand dismissively, "I'm fine. Don's not doing so well, though. He's under a lot of pressure to solve the case RIGHT NOW. He wants to get together. I offered to go over there now, but he didn't want to ruin the museum trip."

"We can come back here anytime," I said. "If Don needs..."

"No," Charlie said, "he's going to come over to my house tonight. We'll talk after dinner, if that's okay with you guys."

We all nodded, and Ben said, "That's fine, Charlie. Why the urgency all of a sudden?"

"Well," Charlie glanced around, and noticed that we were not alone in the gallery, "the company that owns the stolen item has become very anxious to get it back. They're putting pressure on Don's bosses and I understand they became extremely upset when they learned of the circumstances surrounding the theft."

Ben closed his eyes and sighed deeply. "That is certainly understandable. If it were my, uh, item, I would move heaven and earth to get it back." He opened his eyes again, and grinned wryly. "Of course, I can understand Don's situation as well."

"Well," Charlie said, clapping his hands decisively, "let's enjoy the museum, shall we? There's enough time to worry about stolen objects later. So, what are we looking at?"

I glanced up at Charlie as Ben repeated his explanation about Monet's Rouen Cathedral series. He was worried. He has one of those faces that broadcasts every thought and emotion. I wondered what kind of poker player he was.

Larry had wandered over to the Monet haystack painting, and Amita and I met in front of Van Gogh's irises. She started to reach toward the painting, but caught herself before the guard noticed. She gave me a sheepish grin. "I really want to see what those brushstrokes feel like."

"I know. They look like they're still wet, don't they?"

"Well, Dr. Cole," a loud voice echoed through the room. Farnsworth and Galster stood in the doorway. Farnsworth continued, "I thought you would be helping bail your friend Eppes out of the predicament you've gotten him into."

"Dr. Farnsworth, I'm surprised you have nothing better to do than track me down to gloat," Ben said softly.

"Actually, I'm here to see the Manets. I had hoped to see an entirely different Manet when I arrived in LA, but, sadly, you no longer have it in your possession."

Ben crossed the room and stood directly in front of Farnsworth. "Have you lost your senses? Discussing an active investigation in public, and loudly? Grow up, man." He shoved past Farnsworth, turned to Galster and murmured, "Excuse me," and left the room. The rest of us exchanged glances and decided to follow Ben.

When we were in front of the next gallery, Ben looked back. No sign of Farnsworth and Galster. "That was unpleasant," he said with a tight smile. "Shall we see what's in this room?"

"Ben," I said, "maybe we should leave..."

Ben looked at Larry, Charlie and Amita. "What do you think? I'd like to stay. Though I would not enjoy running into that ass again, and I imagine he is planning on dogging our steps."

Larry was gazing nervously down the hallway, obviously dreading seeing Farnsworth again, "Well, Ben, I am not one to enjoy conflict of any kind, and a further meeting with your antagonist seems inevitable if we remain..."

"Nah," Charlie scoffed, "Larry, we can't give in! We have as much right to be here as he does."

Amita took Charlie's arm. "That is true, Charlie, but how much are we going to be able to enjoy it while he's here? We can always come back Tuesday. Classes don't start until Wednesday."

Charlie pondered Amita's logic. "Makes sense. Maybe we'll have solved the case by then and, what did Maggie call them? -- the dragon lady and Ego Man? -- will be back in Boston where they belong."

"We can only hope," Ben said. "All right. I move we accept Amita's suggestion and come back here for a relaxing visit on Tuesday. All in favor, say aye," he nodded as we all said "aye," and continued, "It's unanimous. Let's go."

When we reached the car, Charlie asked, "On to the Norton Simon? Maybe they won't track us there."

Once we were on the road, Amita said, "Charlie, how are we going to help Don with this? I know the original case was a drug case, but do we treat this as part of that case, or as something different?"

"I want to see what Don has on the guy who stole the painting. I'm leaning towards treating this as a separate case. Though the painting is obviously connected to the drug trade, I don't know if the theft of the painting is connected to the drugs."

Ben nodded. "That makes a great deal of sense, Charlie."

"I hope so," Charlie said softly. "Don sounded so ... so upset, so frustrated, so at the end of his rope. I hope we can find the painting before ..."

Amita touched Charlie's arm. "We'll find it." She turned to look at Ben and me. "So what's at the Norton Simon?"

"Two more Manets," I said. "And hopefully we'll have more of a chance to look at these two."


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

We pulled into a parking spot at the Norton Simon Museum, and Larry pulled in beside us. "I must say, Ben, there is an advantage to you having such a large vehicle. You were very easy to follow."

"Oh, Larry," Ben said with a chuckle, "it's not really that large. It's nowhere near as large as some others I've seen."

We entered the museum, and found the Manets within minutes. The Norton Simon was much more user friendly than the Getty. The two paintings, an oil portrait of Madame Manet, about 20" x 24", and a massive oil painting called "Rag Picker" were side by side in the 19th Century gallery. Ben studied them for a few minutes, then said, "They're about ten years older than the Chez Tortoni, but the styles are close enough that I believe they should give us a good comparison."

"They're much darker than the Chez Tortoni or the Rue Mosnier," Larry said, "and they look a lot ... smoother."

Ben agreed. "Manet's earlier work maintained a lot of the traditional style. As he progressed, he adapted a more impressionistic style. But he never completely gave himself over to impressionism the way someone like Monet did. The other impressionists were rebels. Manet wanted to work within the system. I think he wanted to reform it from within. He never exhibited with the impressionists, and he entered paintings in each Salon. But, as hard as he tried, he was not able to conform to the establishment. His work was too different, too avant garde."

Amita shook her head, "It looks pretty traditional to me."

Ben smiled, "Well, you are looking at it in 2006, and it's quite tame after Van Gogh, Picasso, Andy Warhol, and Jackson Pollock. But in 1869, a few years after your Civil War, less than 100 years after the colonies broke from England, paintings looked a lot like..." he looked around the gallery until he located a portrait of a young woman, "Like that." We walked over to the portrait, and Ben smiled and shook his head. "What an amazing coincidence. This is by Thomas Couture. Manet was his student."

Charlie said, "It looks almost like a photograph. I can see how someone who was used to this would be shocked by that."

Larry had wandered over to look at a portrait by Ingres. "You know, Charles, this was painted in 1806. Photography hadn't been invented. In fact, the closest anyone had come was Thomas Wedgwood. He made sun pictures by placing objects on leather treated with silver nitrate. The upper class were fond of decorating their abodes with portraits of themselves, and leather with silver nitrate would not suffice. Artists were the photographers of their time. But once photography was available, the artists were free to move away from realism..."

"Ah," Ben interrupted, "but they felt they were being more realistic than the Salon artists, and perhaps even more realistic than photography. They were trying to capture a moment in time, and convey it to the viewer in a totally realistic way. Manet was at the very beginning of this trend. As he experimented, his techniques changed. But he was still Manet, and all of his paintings should have similarities that Charlie's program would be able to find."

Charlie turned and began to pace. "We'll be able to determine whether the Chez Tortoni is real, and we'll be well on our way to perhaps solving the Gardner case. And after we talk to Don tonight, I'm hoping we'll be on the path to finding it again. Right now, solving the Gardner case is less important than finding our painting. I feel responsible..."

"No, Charlie," Ben said, "It's my fault. If I hadn't asked Don to let me take the painting, this never would have happened."

"Charlie, Ben," I said, "why don't we just relax and enjoy the museum? There's no reason to stew over something you can't do anything about, is there? Just live in the moment."

Charlie stopped pacing, and gave me a sheepish grin. "Live in the moment? I don't think I know how to do that."

Amita took his hand. "Here, Charlie. I'll show you how. I suggest we go downstairs and look at the collection of South Asian art. We will enjoy the art, and we will not think about crime, or Manet, or impressionism until we talk to Don after dinner."

"That's an excellent idea, Charles," Larry said, "Look at it as cleansing the palate of your brain."

"I'm not sure, Larry, but I think you've mixed some metaphors there." He raised his hand as Larry started to object. "But I get your point. Amita and I will be downstairs."

After they left, I took Ben's hand. "Dr. Cole, shall we find our own moment to live in?"

"Mrs. Cole, I believe that's an excellent idea." We turned back to the Couture. It was titled "Reverie," and was a lovely painting of a young woman. "You can definitely see Couture's influence on Manet, can't you?"

"I think it's probably his most notable contribution to the art world. Though this is a beautiful painting, isn't it?"

We spent an hour or so looking around the museum. There's something rejuvenating about just enjoying beautiful things. Even Charlie seemed somewhat relaxed after his time in the south Asia gallery with Amita. I don't know if it was the art or the company, but he wasn't fidgeting and pacing when they returned.

In fact, he was smiling. "That was a lot of fun, Maggie. I think I could get used to this living in the moment thing. There are a couple of special exhibits downstairs you might enjoy. They have 18 Rembrandt etchings. They are absolutely amazing. You know, Larry, Amita, they remind me of Margo's drawings."

"Who?" Amita looked confused.

"The lady who was kidnapped to forge the ten dollar bill we analyzed? She did some amazing drawings."

"Oh, right! That was the first time you worked with wavelet analysis," Amita said. "Yeah, she was really good."

"So, Ben, Larry, Maggie, want to go down and have a look? There's also this really weird exhibition of southern California 'light and space movement' art. Larry, I think you'd really enjoy it."

"Weird? Charles? You think of me in the context of weird?"

"Never, Larry," Charlie chuckled. "I was thinking of you in the context of light and space. Come on, have a look. I'm trying to remember how the sign phrased it... 'they shared an underlying interest in capturing and manipulating light to present shifting realities and perceptions.'.. wasn't that it, Amita?"

"Something like that. Larry, Charlie's right. You'd really like it. Weird or not."

We followed Charlie down to the lower level galleries. The massive circular stairway led us into the middle of the southern Asia gallery. Charlie led us quickly through the stunningly beautiful items from India, Tibet and Kashmir, to the Rembrandt etchings. There were only eighteen, and they were tiny, as etchings usually are. But they were exquisite.

Then Charlie led us to the light and space movement exhibition. The sculptures and paintings were an odd counterpoint to the 400 year old etchings we had just seen. They were made of industrial materials – glass, steel, acrylic. But they were visually stunning. Larry was indeed fascinated by the way the artists had used the materials. At one point, he called Ben over, "You know, Ben, this is just an extension of what the impressionists were doing, isn't it? They tried to show light in their paintings. These artists have just gone a step further."

Ben grinned, "You're right, Larry. I had never looked at it that way. I normally would just dismiss this kind of thing as, well, as less than art. Perhaps I'm no better than the salon juries who rejected the impressionists."

"Oh, don't be so hard on yourself," Larry said. "There is a line at which something ceases to be art, and becomes, well, as you put it, 'less than art.' And I believe that line is subjective, changing from person to person."

"Well," Charlie said, bending down to look through the floating bands of translucent color embedded in an acrylic block. "I like it. I don't know if it's art, but it's fun to look at."

We wandered around the exhibits like kids on a field trip, until the PA system announced that the museum would be closing in fifteen minutes. Charlie glanced at his watch, and grimaced. "Dad's going to wonder what's happened."

"Why don't you call him," Amita suggested.

"Good idea." Charlie took out his cell phone and dialed quickly. "Hey, Dad,... Yeah, I know, we're over at the Norton Simon. We're just leaving... Okay... Need me to pick up anything on the way home? ... Okay... See you in a few minutes... Oh, he's there already?... Yeah, I'll bet. .. Okay. See you!" He closed his phone and said, "Don's there already. Dad thinks he's getting a little impatient.."


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

Charlie pulled into the driveway of his house, with Larry close behind us. There was a huge black SUV in the driveway, along with a little silver sedan. Charlie opened the front door, and said, "Dad, Don! We're here."

"We're in the kitchen!" a voice called.

"Charlie, this is a beautiful house!" I said as Charlie led the way through the house. "The wood work is incredible!"

He turned and grinned, "It is great, isn't it? I'll give you a tour after you meet my Dad."

Don was standing at the counter, drinking a beer, and supervising. An older man, who I assumed was their dad, was tossing a salad. Charlie said, "Hi, Don. Hey, Dad, let me introduce you. Dad, this is Ben and Maggie Cole. Ben and Maggie, our dad, Alan."

Alan wiped his hands on a towel and shook hands with us. "It's great to meet you. Charlie says you're art professors."

"It's great to meet you, Alan. We're visiting professors at Cal Sci. We're trying to come up with an art curriculum for scientists, and we're hoping to tempt some unsuspecting Cal Sci professors into creating a math and science curriculum for artists."

Alan glanced at Charlie and Larry. "Have anyone in mind?"

Ben followed Alan's glance and laughed, "We're keeping our options open at this point. We've yet to survive a semester at Cal Sci."

"I'm sure you'll do just fine," Alan said. "Now, Charlie, why don't you get our guests some drinks, and let me finish up in here. Don, you start the steaks."

"Alan," I said, "what can I do to help?"

"I think everything is pretty much under control. You could set the table, if you'd like."

"I'd like. Charlie can show me where everything is."

"Oh, and I've already warned Don that there is to be no talk of business until after we eat," Alan said, giving his sons a fatherly warning gaze.

Don raised his hands defensively. "I have no intentions of telling these guys anything about what I discovered until after supper. No matter how exciting the news is."

"What news?" Charlie asked. "What have you learned?"

"Nope. You heard Dad. Not until we finish eating. Sorry. I don't make the rules!"

Amita laughed. "Don, you're a cruel, cruel man! You know Charlie won't rest until he gets the information out of you."

"Donnie, quit teasing your brother. Get those steaks started. The rest of you, out! Get your drinks, and go sit down and chat, or watch TV, or go feed the koi."

Charlie helped me find the plates and silverware, and we all left Alan to his kitchen. After I set the table, I went into the back yard, where the rest of the gang had congregated. Ben and Charlie stood on either side of Don as he tinkered with the grill. They both looked up guiltily as I opened the door, and I realized what was up. "So, have you gotten it out of him yet?"

"No," Ben said. "The man obviously knows a lot about interrogation techniques and how to resist them."

Don laughed and said, "I'm gonna go get the meat. The quicker we eat, the sooner you'll learn all."

Charlie shook his head. "The weird thing is, I think Don is as anxious to tell us as we are to find out. He's just enjoying torturing us. Hey, you guys want the grand tour? As long as Don is going to keep his lips zipped, why don't I show you the house? You've already seen the kitchen, so we don't have to disturb the chef."

The first time we had entered the house, the I had noticed the beautiful woodwork. This time, I noticed the lighting and the profusion of family photographs. The whole impression was one of warmth, of love. As we walked through the house, I found myself wanting to touch everything, to connect with it. And watching and listening to Charlie, I could tell he loved the house.

"You've got to see the solarium," he was saying. "It is such a wonderful, peaceful place to just sit and read or talk." He led us into a glassed in porch. Like the rest of the house, the woodwork was beautiful, but combined with the light that poured in through the windows, it was indeed an impressive room.

We sat in the solarium for a few minutes, and watched everybody else down in the back yard. "You love this house, don't you, Charlie?" I asked the obvious question.

"Yeah. Yeah, I do. Don and I grew up here. After Mom passed away, well a couple of years after that, Dad decided to sell it. It was too big, it was too much work. He wanted to settle into a smaller place with less responsibility. Well, I had to buy it. I just didn't want to lose everything we had here."

Ben shifted beside me, and I realized he had been quiet the whole time. I looked up, trying to read his expression. He seemed to realize I was wondering what was going on, and he squeezed my hand.

It hit me then. Why Ben had been so quiet. His first wife, Sarah, had died of cancer while she was pregnant with their only child. The child hadn't survived either. The feeling of family that permeated the Eppes home hit him hard. He and I were a family now, of course, but he knew at our age we wouldn't be having any kids. And moments like this reminded him of what would never be.

He took a deep breath, and said, "That is wonderful, Charlie. It would be a shame to lose all this. And I don't just mean the house. It's the whole atmosphere."

Charlie nodded as he stood. "That's why I had to do it. And even when the furnace makes a racket, or the plumbing needs to be beaten into submission, I don't regret it. Hey, it looks like Don is taking the steaks off the grill."

"Well," Ben said, standing and stretching. "what's the phrase? 'You can call me anything. Just don't call me late to dinner?'"

"That's the one," Charlie said, laughing. We arrived in the dining room at the same time as the steaks. "Perfect timing!"

Charlie went to the refrigerator. "Who needs a drink? Ben, Maggie, you don't have anything yet. What can I get you?"

"Beer, please," Ben said. I opted for a diet Coke. I never liked the taste of beer.

As we dug in, Alan started the conversation. "So, Ben, Maggie, how do you like L.A? Is this your first time here?"

"Well, except for the topic we're not permitted to discuss just yet," Ben said with a sly smile, "I am finding LA quite to my liking. I have been here before, but Maggie hasn't."

"She's never been west of the Mississippi, Dad," Charlie added, as if it were a strange occurrence.

"Charlie, a great many people have never been west of the Mississippi," Alan replied. "So, Maggie, how are you enjoying it here?"

"The traffic is unlike anything I've ever seen outside of New York City, or perhaps Boston, but the area is beautiful, and the museums are fantastic. And, by the way, I was telling Charlie that this is a magnificent house. I understand why he hated to give it up. You have done such a wonderful job of caring for it."

"Why, thank you, Maggie. It's been a labor of love, and now Charlie gets to enjoy that special pleasure."

Charlie rolled his eyes. "I am going to replace that furnace, Dad. I'm getting tired of dealing with its tantrums."

Amita laughed, "Charlie is many things, but a handyman he's not."

Ben chuckled. "I'm not either. I tried to save money by changing the oil in the car, and ended up having to have the car towed. I had tightened the filter instead of loosening it, and ended up stripping the threads or some ridiculous thing."

"We decided it was cheaper to hire a professional than to do the work ourselves," I added. "Before Ben and I got married, I nearly electrocuted myself trying to replace the light fixture in my lamppost. I turned off the wrong circuit breaker. Luckily the zap knocked me on my butt, and broke the connection."

"So, Charles," Larry concluded, "I believe the moral of the story is to leave the job to the person most qualified to handle that job."

Don leaned back in his chair and grinned at Charlie. "But, Larry, you forget who you're dealing with here. Charlie has taken this whole thing as an attack on his intelligence. He will not let himself be outsmarted by a house. In fact I do believe I've heard him using those exact words."

We could all tell that Don had hit home with that one. Charlie looked stunned. He finally blurted, "I don't think I ever said that, Don. Well, I may have. Maybe in a moment of frustration. But I have enough common sense to know when I am not equal to a task. And I am definitely not equal to the task of handling that furnace."

Alan glanced at his sons, and his eyes twinkled as he said, "Even if I, clearly less intelligent than you, have managed to handle that furnace all these years?"

"Ah, but father," Charlie said with a sly grin, "You are operating under a couple of false premises." He ticked them off on his fingers. "First, it has not been proven that you are less intelligent than I am. Second, intelligence may not be the attribute required to handle that particular piece of equipment."

"Why?" Don said, "You think it takes dumb luck?"

"There's no such thing as luck. Dumb or not."

I turned to Larry, and asked, "Is dinner the the Eppes house always this exciting?"

Larry laughed, "Well it is always, shall we say, interesting. The mixing of two Eppes brothers, compounded by the addition of Alan as a catalyst, and the reaction can be explosive."

"Would anyone like more salad," Alan said as he held the bowl up.

We all declined, and finished our steak with gusto. Ben lifted his beer bottle, "A toast, to our chefs. Alan, Don, thank you for a wonderful dinner."

We all lifted our drinks. After the toast, I said, "The steaks were very tender. What's your secret?"

"Well," Alan said, "First, you have to buy the best steak. I can give you my butcher's name, if you're interested."

"Oh, I am interested," I said.

We were interrupted as Don and Charlie began clearing the table. "Everybody finished?" Charlie asked belatedly.


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

We had the dining room cleared in record time, and moved into the living room. Don brought out a manila folder, and dropped it onto the coffee table. "Thanks to Ben and Charlie, we have a positive ID on our thief, their assailant. Ben's sketch got us started, and their recollection of what he touched when he entered the room gave us the fingerprint evidence we needed to confirm the identification."

At the mention of fingerprints, Don gave Charlie a pointed look. Charlie raised his hands and shook his head. "Fingerprints are fine with me, Don. Unless there is some compelling evidence to refute them."

I was confused. "What's wrong with fingerprints?"

"Nothing," Don and Charlie said simultaneously.

"Charlie took issue with a fingerprint expert on one of our cases," Don explained. "He drove the poor woman nuts. Probably gave her nightmares for weeks. Anyway," he raised his hand to stop Charlie from interrupting, "the issue was whether she was correct in assuming the partial print she was working from was a thumb and not a forefinger, or," he grinned at Charlie, "a middle finger."

"I see. I think. Sorry for the interruption. Go on," I said.

"Well, from the sketch and the fingerprint, we have determined that the assailant was a small-time hood from Boston, named Johnny Damiano. He was actually questioned in the Gardner theft, but in going through the files, I believe 99 of the known criminals in Boston were questioned. With Special Agent Galster's help, I have collected some of the reports on the Gardner theft. We've gone through a substantial number of the reports, and I'm fairly confident that our drug bust is in some way connected with the Gardner."

Alan looked up from his book, surprised. "The Isabella Stewart Gardner theft? But that took place fifteen years ago."

"Sixteen, actually," Don said. "Dad, you can't tell anybody about this, but we found what we think is one of the paintings that was stolen from the Gardner."

"That's amazing. I thought the FBI was stumped on that case."

"They were. We may still be," Don said. "But the painting showed up in a warehouse full of drugs. And, as I mentioned, we think that this is an indication that the people involved in our drug bust may have been involved in the Gardner theft."

"In what way?" Ben asked.

"Damiano is involved in a very small way with the Boston mob. There was a great deal of speculation after the theft that the mob was involved. The discovery of the Manet is not public knowledge. Granted, a lot of people outside of the FBI know about it, and, while I trust the people in this room implicitly, I am not sure I trust the others. So it is possible that Damiano has no connection with the original theft. He may have just found out about the Manet through other channels. But right now I'm operating under the assumption that he is somehow connected with the original theft."

Ben shook his head in disbelief. "Are you proposing we attempt to solve the Gardner theft?"

"I am suggesting we explore the possibility that there is a connection. To do that, we have to examine both events. I believe that with this group, plus my team, and with the cooperation of Agent Galster, we could find the link, if it's there."

I looked around the group, and noticed that everybody was as stunned as I was. Charlie finally cleared his throat and spoke. "We'll need data."

"By tomorrow morning I'll have a room full of data for you."

"That should be a good start," Charlie said.

"Any idea how you're going to approach this?" Don asked.

Charlie pondered for a moment, gazing off into the distance, then suddenly his eyes widened, and a small smile played around his lips. He nodded. "I'll start with social networking. Then, depending on what kind of data you have in that roomful, I'll decide where to go next. You say it will be there tomorrow?"

"Yeah. It's supposed to arrive about 8 in the morning. I'm planning on being there, so if any of you are available, we could get together."

I glanced at Ben then said, "We won't be able to come until after noon."

"That's okay," Don said, "I'm sure I'll be there all day."

"On a Sunday?" I asked.

"Occupational hazard. No banker's hours in the FBI."

I was embarrassed now. I said, "If you really need us in the morning, we could..."

Ben cleared his throat. "We're going to church. We could go to an earlier service and be in your office by ten, but unless it's absolutely necessary, I don't wish to miss church altogether."

Don shrugged. "Ten should be fine. If there really are as many files as Galster says there are, we won't even make a dent in them by ten. In fact, by ten o'clock we should be ready for bagels and coffee."

"Okay," I said. "We'll bring the bagels and coffee. Is Noah's okay with everybody?"

We took a few minutes to take everybody's orders, and then Don continued. "Okay, so we'll start around eight and continue until we can't see any more. Meanwhile, we're looking for Johnny Damiano."

"What do you know about him?" Charlie asked. "Maybe we can help narrow the search."

Don picked up the folder and before he could start reading, Charlie stood. "Let me get a blackboard from the garage." With Larry's help, he wrestled a board into the living room. "Okay, go."

"Okay, he's 44 years old, which means he was 28 when the Gardner was robbed."

"Don," Amita said, "Do you have the descriptions of the Gardner thieves in that folder. Even better, were there ever any police sketches done?"

"I've got the descriptions right here. I don't know about the sketches," Don pulled a sheet of paper from the file and handed it to Amita. "Why?"

"Well, if we can compare Ben's sketch with the original sketches, altering the originals for age, we might be able to see if Johnny Damiano fit the descriptions of either burglar."

Larry was rubbing his chin, and he finally said, "You know, Don, I believe I read something a few years ago about an art dealer who was arrested in connection with the Gardner theft. The whole thing sounded very complicated, and there were rumors that the FBI was somehow, well, tainted, by the whole incident..."

Don shrugged. "I don't know the details, but there were a couple of problems. One was the way the FBI there handled their informants. Another was the possibility that they framed some creep for an attempted armed robbery in an effort to get him to reveal where the loot from the Gardner was hidden."

"Was Agent Galster involved?" Larry asked softly.

"No. She hasn't been there long enough for that. These incidents took place in the mid to late nineties."

"But she could be involved with the cover up," Alan objected.

"Nah," Don said, "I think she's clean. She's annoying as all get out, but I don't think she's involved in anything illegal. In fact, I think the reason she's making sure we get all the case files is because she doesn't trust the FBI in Boston."

Charlie scratched his head. "But she didn't seem to trust you all that much either. She's threatening to file a complaint against you."

Don sighed. "Things have changed. I don't know why, but all of a sudden this afternoon, she told me she was dropping the complaint against me, and now she wants to cooperate fully in my investigation."

"That's bizarre," I said. Don glared at me. "Not that she trusts you, but that she's done a 180 for no known reason."

"Maybe the only reason is that she checked into our record – my record – and decided to trust my judgment," he said. But even he didn't sound all that convinced.


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

"Well," Charlie said, rubbing his chest absently, wincing, "it looks like we are lacking the data to make a determination of Agent Galster's motives. How about we get back to Johnny Damiano? Amita, I like your idea about comparing the sketches, but police sketches sixteen years ago were nothing like they are now."

"True," she said, "but the sketches combined with the transcripts of the witness interviews might give us something. I wonder if we could get a sketch artist to come up with something based on the old statements..."

Don nodded. "We could try. I've asked Agent Galster to start trying to track down the witnesses, though after all this time, their memories aren't going to be very accurate."

Larry nodded, "That is true, Don. I recall reading an article not too long ago about the unreliability of eyewitnesses' memories, especially after time passes. If I remember correctly..."

I couldn't stop myself from giggling. I tried to cover by reaching into my purse for my notebook, but Larry looked up, questioningly. "I'm sorry. That just struck me funny. You were talking about memories being unreliable, and then..."

Larry nodded, "And then I started my next sentence with 'If I remember correctly.' Poor choice of idiomatic phrasing. But my point is that as time passes, eyewitnesses tend to incorporate new information into their memories. As they hear people talking about the case, or see photographs, or even, I would imagine, begin to try to fill in gaps out of their own imaginations, their memories become diluted with new information."

Don nodded, chewing on his lower lip, "So these witnesses aren't going to do us much good."

"I wouldn't think they would," Larry said. "There are also studies that show if a weapon is used in a crime, the witnesses will not remember as much about the criminal, because they're looking at the weapon, not at the person holding it."

"Well, that wouldn't apply here." Don said. No weapons were seen during the burglary. The thieves were dressed as Boston police officers, and got into the museum by telling the security guards that they had a report of a disturbance inside the Gardner compound. Once they were inside, the two thieves overpowered the two guards..."

Charlie interrupted. "Two thieves with no weapons overpowered two security guards? The guards didn't fight back?"

"Remember, Charles," Larry said, "the guards thought they were dealing with police officers. They were probably surprised and unable to react until it was too late."

"That makes sense." Charlie said. So, Don, what did the two thieves look like? Either of them sound like Damiano?"

Amita handed the description sheet back to Don, and he read it to Charlie, "Okay, both subjects were white males. First suspect was late twenties to mid thirties, five foot seven to five foot ten. Medium build, dark eyes, black hair, fair to medium complexion. Narrow face. Wearing a fake mustache and gold framed glasses. Possible Boston accent. The second suspect was early to mid thirties, six foot to six foot one, one eighty to two hundred pounds. Broad shoulders, lanky from waist down. Dark eyes, black hair, fair to medium complexion, round face." As he read, I began trying to take notes, but had a hard time keeping up. Finally, I resorted to doodling. Don handed the paper back to Amita and said, "Not much help."

"Okay," Charlie tapped his chalk on the board. "What do you know about Damiano?"

Don picked up the folder and pulled out a couple of sheets of paper. "Okay, if you're going to be doing your social networking thing..."

"Just give me all you have. Anything and everything. I need data." He reached to start writing at the top edge of the board, winced, and moved his hand down a little lower.

Amita looked at him, concern furrowing her brow. "Charlie, are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Still a little sore. I keep forgetting not to move certain ways. So, Don, what do you have?"

Don shrugged. "Okay. Damiano's forty four. Six feet tall, dark hair, brown eyes, medium build."

Ben interrupted, "Don, he has blond hair and blue eyes."

Don grinned, "When you saw him, he did. Criminals are doing wonders these days with bleach and contact lenses." He continued, "He lived in Boston his whole life. He was a known associate of David Turner, who was convicted of attempting to rob an armored car in 2001. Turner and his co-defendants were questioned about the Gardner theft." He looked up from the paper. "I don't have the transcripts of those interrogations, but I should have them tomorrow. The co-defendants were an interesting bunch, too: Carmen Merlino had strong mob ties, and there was a former Boston police officer, among others."

Charlie had been listing the names on the blackboard. But when Don mentioned the mobster and the cop, he started writing something completely different. He noticed Don had stopped talking, and glanced back at him, "Keep going. I'm listening."

Don looked doubtful, but he continued, "It doesn't look like Damiano was involved in the armored car robbery, but he was involved in several other crimes with Turner."

"Is he directly involved with the mob?" Charlie asked without turning from the board.

Don flipped through the file. "I don't see anything connecting him with the mob."

Charlie erased and changed part of what he had written.

"But through Turner, he may have been acquainted with Merlino. Merlino was an associate of the brother of a mob boss."

Amita shook her head. "That sounds a little tenuous, Don."

Charlie turned and said, "Tenuous or not, I want it all. I'll assign weights to the different values as I go along. This is just giving me something to start with. Now, you said earlier that the police suspected a mob connection with the Gardner theft, right? Were there any other organizations they looked into?"

"Yeah, they looked into the Irish Republican Army, too. Boston was a hotbed of IRA fundraising, and the IRA had started using stolen art to raise money," Don said without consulting his notes.

"Okay," Charlie said, tapping the chalk on the board. "There are a lot of avenues we can follow." He rubbed his chest again and glanced down. His shirt had a spot of red on it. "Crap," he said softly. "I think I popped a stitch."

Alan was on his feet immediately. "Let's have a look."

"Not here," Charlie said, backing away. "I'll go upstairs and put a bandaid on it." Alan started to follow him, and he turned and held up his hand. "Dad, I'm fine. I promise I'll call you if I need help." He grinned, "Stay!"

Alan reluctantly watched his son run up the stairs. "Well, would anybody like anything to drink while we're waiting?"


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

We had refreshed our drinks and Alan had brought out an array of finger foods by the time Charlie returned, wearing a clean shirt. He met Alan's questioning gaze and said, "One stitch broke. I put a bandaid on it. I think I was scratching too much." He grimaced, "The hair is starting to grow back and it itches like a son of a gun."

Alan looked dubious, but he let it drop.

"Okay," Charlie was back at his blackboard. "It sounds like we're going to have to wait until tomorrow to get more data on Damiano. How about your drug bust, Don? We know there's a connection between the drugs and the painting. Maybe there's a connection between the drugs and Damiano."

"Could be. I haven't seen it yet, and I have been looking," Don sounded a bit testy.

Charlie blinked in surprise. "I know you have. I didn't mean to imply that you hadn't."

Don sighed. "I know you didn't, Charlie. Sorry. It's been a long, annoying day." He leaned back and closed his eyes, focusing for a few moments before speaking again. "Okay. We seized a real mixed bag in the bust. There was the painting, of course, along with cocaine, gold, electronics, and diamonds. We were looking for the cocaine. We had a tip that a new up and coming cartel in Colombia had recently made contact with the Crips. That made it a federal case, so we took over the investigation. LAPD had already gotten a good start on the investigation, and were on the verge of busting the Crips. But we convinced them to wait for the shipment from Colombia."

"Killing two birds with one stone, as it were," Charlie said with a chuckle.

"They weren't too thrilled, but they agreed. The raid was a coordinated effort between the FBI, LAPD, DEA and the Highway Patrol. We worked with the DEA and took the warehouse. LAPD and Highway Patrol raided the homes of the gang members."

Ben asked, "Did any of the people you arrested say anything about the painting?"

"None that I know of. I haven't gotten the transcripts of all of the interrogations yet. We did bust over a hundred people that day."

"That's amazing," Ben said. "Back home they consider it a big deal if they bust five men for patronizing a prostitute."

Don grinned, "I think I could enjoy a place like that."

Alan looked up from his puzzle. "You'd be bored in five minutes, son of mine."

"So," Charlie said, tapping his chalk on the board, "We've got to find connections between three social networks – no, four social networks. The Crips, the cartel, Damiano, and the original Gardner thieves." He fidgeted, paced, and finally started writing again. "Amita, Larry, what do you think of this?"

As he started to write incomprehensible characters all over the board, I nudged Ben, "I'm glad he didn't ask for our input."

Charlie looked over his shoulder, "Oh, we'll need your input soon enough. Ben, did you get very far on your examination of the Chez Tortoni?"

"Not as far as I'd like, but I did learn some things about the painting that may be useful. I believe the condition of the painting was consistent with what we know about the Gardner theft. It was still on its stretcher – the wooden support that the canvas was attached to. According to the reports I found on the internet, only two of the paintings were cut from their stretchers – the two Rembrandts. The rest were taken out of the frames, but the canvases were not cut."

I added, "From what I saw, it looked like it had been stored carefully. There wasn't a lot of cracking, or other damage to the surface."

Charlie said, "So the original thieves were people who knew how to handle paintings. I wonder why they cut the Rembrandts from the stretchers, though."

Ben said, "I'd have to look at the list to be sure, but I believe those two Rembrandts were the largest objects stolen. If I remember correctly, one was about four feet by five feet. The other was three and a half feet by four feet. According to a security video, they were also the first items taken. The thieves smashed the frames, removed the paintings and then cut the canvas from the stretchers."

"And that normally is a sign that the thieves don't know what they're doing," I continued, "But in this case, because they removed the frames first, they actually didn't cut into the paint surface, so they did a minimum of damage."

"Of course," Ben added, "if they were stupid enough to roll the canvases, they could have caused severe damage. I've heard of cases where canvases were rolled, and the thieves ended up with a blank canvas and a pile of paint chips."

Larry rubbed his face, "Oh my. Imagine that happening to a Rembrandt... Oh my."

"My feelings exactly, Larry," Ben said.

"So, what else did the security video show?" Charlie asked.

"You have to understand, Charlie, that I only have third hand information. Perhaps the FBI files will have the full story. But as I understand it, the thieves made four trips. They took the two large Rembrandts first. Then they returned for a postage-stamp sized Rembrandt etching, and, I believe, two other paintings. Then I believe they took five Degas'. They stole the Manet last, but stopped on the way out and grabbed a bronze vase and a bronze eagle from a flag pole."

"Strange selection of items," Larry said.

"Even stranger," Ben said, "they apparently tried to steal a French flag from a museum case. There was significant damage to the case. I found all this in an article about the FBI presentation at IFAR, so I imagine the information is available in the files."

"What's IFAR?" Amita asked.

"The International Foundation for Art Research," I answered. "It's a clearinghouse for information on art crimes."

Charlie put his chalk down, rubbed his eyes, and ran his fingers through his hair. "Sounds like another good source for more information." He glanced at Amita and Larry. "I think we're getting the beginnings of an approach here. Tomorrow morning – very early in the morning – we'll have access to the data we need to refine things."

"You look like you're running out of steam, Charlie," Amita said.

Charlie shook his head, then slowly nodded. "I think you're right." He put down his chalk and sat next to Amita.

"And you still have come back to our apartment to retrieve your car," Ben said.

Charlie rubbed his face and sighed. "I forgot about that."

"Unless you want us to bring it when we come to Don's office tomorrow," I suggested. "We can drop Amita off at her place tonight."

"That sounds good to me," Charlie said. "You think you can find your way?" He fished in his pocket for his car keys and handed them to me.

"Amita can navigate us to her place, and give us directions from there to our place. We'll make it," I said. "And we can Mapquest directions to Don's office tomorrow. At least this time of night the traffic shouldn't be too bad."

Ben patted my knee condescendingly. "Poor naïve creature. You've never lived in a big city, have you?"

I laughed. "Aw, shucks, Dr. Cole. I'm just a country girl at heart." I stood and stretched. "Alan, it was very nice meeting you. Supper was excellent."

"Why, thank you Maggie. I hope to see more of you two while you're at Cal Sci."

"Oh, you definitely will!"


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23

Church was, as usual, an incredibly uplifting experience. We walked to the car, hand in hand. I was humming the closing hymn when Ben suddenly dropped my hand and hugged me.

"What was that for?" I asked, looking up at his beautiful eyes.

"No special reason," he murmured as he hugged me again. "It just amazes me sometime how fortunate I am that you decided to marry me."

"I'm the fortunate one," I whispered.

"Too bad we promised Don we'd be in his office by ten," Ben said with an impish grin as he unlocked the Mercedes.

I went to Charlie's car, and said, "Don't forget we're stopping for bagels and coffee."

"Noah's, right? You know the way if we get separated?"

"Yep. See you there!"

The traffic wasn't too bad, for Los Angeles, so we did make it before ten, even with a stop at Noah's bakery to pick up bagels and coffee for the hungry hoard. I had called Don when Ben was parking the car, and he said he'd send someone to meet us in the lobby.

Megan Reeves recognized us as soon as we came through the door. "Hi! How are you guys doing?" Her eyes lit up when the saw the Noah's bags. "Oh, I love you two!"

"You just love us for our Noah's," Ben said, grinning. "How are you? How're things going upstairs?"

Megan rolled her eyes. "There's an awful lot of material to go through, and too many people with too many ideas of how to handle it. Good thing we all get along."

The security guard gave our computer bags a perfunctory search, and glanced longingly at the Noah's bags. "Here," I said, opening a bag for him. "Is it against regulations to give you a bagel?"

He looked at Megan, and said, "Uh..."

Megan gave him a wave. "Ah, go ahead. We won't tell anybody."

He selected an onion bagel, and said, "Thanks!"

As we walked toward the elevator, Ben said, "So, Don got all the material from Boston, then? How much is there?"

Megan shook her head as she pressed the elevator button. "I would guess twenty banker's boxes full."

"Whew," Ben said. "Twenty boxes?"

"At least," Megan, said as we got into the elevator. "Looks like you two came ready to compute. I think there's going to be more processing power in that conference room than there is in all of NASA."

"Let me guess," I said, "Charlie and Amita, right?"

"Yep. Charlie received the other two scans, and he's got his computer running his wavelet thing. He's scratching incomprehensible things onto the boards and Amita is programming them into her computer. I have to admit I don't understand what they do, but they do it very well."

I laughed. "And they seem to enjoy doing it together."

"Maggie!" Ben said, trying hard to look scandalized.

I punched him in the arm. "That's not what I meant. Get your mind out of the gutter!"

Luckily the elevator door opened, and Megan led us to the conference room they had commandeered for this case. She hadn't exaggerated about the paperwork or the computing. Charlie had already filled several white boards with numbers and symbols, and Amita was typing as fast as he was writing.

"Hey, everybody!" Megan said, "Bagels and coffee! Oh, and Ben and Maggie are here too."

"Nice to see you have your priorities in order," Ben said as he put his bags down on an empty corner of the table.

Colby, David and Don looked up from the stacks of file folders. I grinned at their expressions. "Sorry, we didn't bring the intravenous coffee. Looks like you guys need your caffeine fix NOW."

Colby stood and stretched. "There's plenty of caffeine in the dreck we've been drinking all morning. It'll be nice to have something with flavor for a change."

"Well," Megan said, "If you'd clean the coffee pots once in a while, Granger, the coffee wouldn't taste so bad."

"Clean the coffee pots!? I thought that was your job, Reeves!"

"Sure, let the girl do it," Megan said, tossing a bagel Colby's way. "David's mother must have brought him up right. He at least rinses the pot."

David and Don moved file folders out of the way, and we brought out the coffee containers, along with a double handful of creamers and sugar packets.

"Come on, Charlie," Megan called. "You'd better get over here before these guys eat it all."

He didn't even turn from the white board, just waved in our general direction, and said, "Go ahead. I want to get this down before I lose it... Amita, why don't you get yourself whatever you want?"

"I'm good," she said, not looking up from her keyboard.

"So," I said softly to Don, "What are they working on?"

He shrugged and shook his head. "Charlie told me, but I didn't get half of it. It's one of his social networking things. The rest of us are going through the files, looking for more data for Charlie and also looking for other useful information."

"What would you like us to do?" Ben asked as he spread cream cheese on an onion bagel.

"We've been setting aside files you might be interested in. And, Maggie, if you don't mind, you can either help Ben or help us go through the files with us."

I looked from the small stack Don had indicated to the boxes full of files yet to be read. "It looks as if you need the most help right now, Don."

"Good answer," Colby said with a grin as he lifted his coffee cup in a toast to me.

We took our drinks and bagels and went back to work. Charlie and Amita were still busy, so I brought them each a bagel before I sat down. Amita glanced up and smiled, "Thanks, Maggie." Charlie was too involved in his calculations to even notice.

David handed me a folder full of clippings, photographs and printouts, a yellow pad and a pencil. "What are we looking for?" I asked.

He shrugged. "Names, dates and places for Charlie. Anything that seems to connect our drug bust with the Gardner case. Anything that strikes you as odd. If you have any questions, just ask. We've been kind of brainstorming as we go."

"This is a daunting task," I said as I opened the folder. David had handed me a folder full of news articles about the theft. The top article in the stack was from the Boston Globe, dated almost ten years after the theft. It gave a brief recap of the theft, then outlined the investigation. Tom Cassano was the FBI supervisor who oversaw the investigation from the beginning. I made note of his name and wondered if he was still on the case. Probably retired on a cushy civil servant's pension by now. According to Cassano, the FBI had agents from every one of its fifty six offices pursuing over 2000 leads. I wondered if there was any information in the LA office about their part in the investigation. I noted on my list, too. The agents traveled to Japan, Europe, South America and Mexico pursuing their leads. In the article Cassano was quoted as not having a clue who was responsible. I had heard that law enforcement agencies often withheld information from the public. I wondered if Cassano was as clueless as he claimed.

"How's it going, Maggie?" Megan asked.

"So far I'm finding more questions than answers."

"Like what?"

"This FBI supervisor, Tom Cassano. Is he still around?"

"We'll have to ask Agent Galster when she gets back," Don said.

"Where is she?" Ben said, looking up from his pile of folders.

Don shrugged. "She and your buddy Farnsworth stepped out for a few minutes. She got some phone call from her office and didn't want to take it in here."

"Okay. I'll just keep making my list until she gets back. But I did find something you guys might know about." The agents stopped what they were doing and looked at me, waiting for me to continue. "This article says that agents from every office in the country were involved in tracking down leads. Is there any way to find out how this office was involved?"

"That's a good question," Don said, nodding. "I'll see what I can find out," he said as he left the conference room.

I went back to the article. The Gardner museum had only – only? -- offered a $1 million reward. The FBI was concerned that since the objects stolen were worth upwards of $200 million, that the reward was too small to motivate the thieves. I remembered reading someplace that the thieves had told the guards, "You'll be hearing from us." But Cassano was apparently concerned that the small size of the reward and the fact that the objects weren't insured may have made them decide it wasn't worth it. "Wow," I whispered.

David glanced at me. "Hmm?"

"The paintings weren't insured and the museum offered a relative pittance of a reward."

Ben glanced up. "So they were denied the most common and immediate form of profit from this kind of theft. Unless they were stealing the paintings for a private collector, they would probably be looking to profit from a reward or a negotiated settlement from the insurer."

"So," Megan said, "If they stole the paintings looking for a quick payout, they were going to be disappointed."

Colby leaned forward. "I wonder how disappointed they would have been. Disappointed enough to do something really stupid?"

"Could be," Megan said.

"I hope not," Ben said. "But, I don't think they did. If Charlie's program confirms my brief examination, at least one of the paintings is still around."

"Speaking of which," Amita said, glancing up from her computer. "Charlie, how's the wavelet analysis coming?"

"Hmm? Oh, let me look." He walked over to his computer. "Aw, thanks for the bagel," he said, picking it up and taking a bite. "Mmmkay." he chewed and swallowed. "It looks like it's finished." He pressed a few keys, then the projection screen behind him lit up and filled with a sphere just like the one we had seen before. This time is was populated with squares, circles, triangles, stars and diamonds. The diamonds were almost all outside of the sphere.

"I hope the diamonds are the V&A fake and not our painting," Ben said.

"They are the fake. Our painting is the stars." He consulted a list next to the computer. "The squares are the Rue Mosnier. The circles are the Madame Manet, and the triangles are the Ragpicker."

"So the Chez Tortoni was – is – real," Ben said softly. "I can't believe I let that Damiano take it."

We heard voices at the doorway, and turned to see Don returning with Galster and Farnsworth. Charlie clicked a few keys, and the image on the screen disappeared.

"What was that?" Don asked. "Did your analysis finish?"

"Uh, yeah." Charlie glanced from Don to Agent Galster.

I saw his glance, and nodded slightly. "Okay, let's see it."

"Okay," Charlie said, and the image reappeared on the screen. "The fake from the V&A is the squares. The Chez Tortoni is the stars, and the rest are the paintings from the Norton Simon and the Getty."

Don bit his lip and grew a little pale. "So we've got to get the Chez Tortoni back."


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter 24

The first time we had met Agent Galster, she had looked angry. Now she had a neutral, very professional expression on her face. Jason Farnsworth, on the other hand, zeroed in on Don's comment, and said, triumphantly, "If Dr. Cole had been more careful, you wouldn't be missing the Chez Tortoni now."

Galster turned to him. "Jason, remember what we spoke about after your outburst in the museum yesterday?"

Don looked at the two of them. "What outburst? What happened?"

Galster answered Don without taking her eyes from Farnsworth. "Dr. Farnsworth decided to berate Dr. Cole in the Getty Museum. Loudly, and in front of other museum patrons." Galster turned to Ben. "I want to apologize for bringing Dr. Farnsworth in on this case, and I want to apologize for any embarrassment he caused you. If I had known he was going to cause this kind of trouble, I would have left him in Boston. He assured me yesterday that he was ready to put his petty resentments behind him."

Ben was stunned. "You don't need to apologize, Agent Galster. I'm accustomed to the battles that go on in academia. As long as they don't result in fisticuffs, I think I can handle it."

Don gave Ben a glance that made it clear they were going to be talking about this later. To Galster he said, "As long as this doesn't screw up my case, I have no problem with it." To Farnsworth, he said, "Are you going to be able to work with Dr. Cole in a professional manner?"

"Yes, Agent Eppes," a chastened Farnsworth said.

"Good. We need all the help we can get on this case. Have a seat, and I'll fill you in on what we're doing."

As Don explained everything to Galster and Farnsworth, I couldn't stop staring at Agent Galster. I wondered what had made her change her mind. Why had she gone from the open hostility of our first meeting to this cooperative professionalism. When she noticed me staring, I looked away. When I looked up again, she was smiling at me.

I gave up, and decided to watch and listen to Don instead. Good thing I did, because after a few moments, he addressed my earlier questions. "Maggie, I checked on a couple of things for you. Tom Cassano has retired. Agent Galster is the lead agent on the Gardner case now. Because it's pretty much on the back burner," he glanced at Galster and she nodded, "they decided to assign it to a special agent instead of a supervisor. Of course, " he said smiling, "they have not released this information to the press, for fear of an uproar from the art community."

He pulled out a thin folder, "Regarding the question about who in this office handled our portion of the Gardner investigation, the agent was Fred McLaren. He has left the FBI, but we're trying to contact him. I have his files, though, if you think they'd be helpful."

"Thanks, Don," I took the folder he handed to me and put it down in front of me.

"Now, I know there are several unspoken questions in this room, and I have asked Agent Galster to make a brief statement, which I hope will put the past behind us."

Agent Galster looked at her hands for a long moment, took a deep breath, and then began speaking. "I asked Agent Eppes for this opportunity to apologize to him and his team. When I arrived in this office, I assumed that I was to pick up the painting and take it back to Boston, and that I was to head up the investigation there. When I received less cooperation than I had been led to believe I'd be receiving, I'm afraid I lost my temper. I said some things to Agent Eppes and his team that were totally out of line. When I called my superiors for direction, I was informed that your team had one of the best solve rates in the country, and that I was to cooperate fully with you. I was further informed that your consultants were also among the best in the country, and that I was not to blame them for the fact that the painting is now missing. So, I do sincerely apologize to all of you, and I plan on doing whatever you need me to do to solve this case."

Don's team looked as surprised as I felt. After a moment, Megan said, "Welcome to the team, Agent Galster."

"Please, all of you, call me Emma."

"Okay, Emma," Megan said. "Don, should we have Emma work on the Boston end of it, or do you want her to become familiar with our end?"

"I like the idea of having her look at our cases – the drug case and the attack on Ben and Charlie. Maybe she can bring some fresh insight. Why don't you familiarize her with what we've got so far. Dr. Farnsworth, why don't you let Charlie and Ben bring you up to speed on what they've done? I'd like your input on the program Charlie set up."

Charlie glared at Don. "I don't think we need any more input. I think the program has done its job."

"I think the Boston office would appreciate it if we'd make use of their consultant, Charlie. You don't have to listen to his advice, but I'd like to know what he thinks of it."

It was obvious from Charlie's expression that he had no intention of listening to Farnsworth's comments, but he pulled a chair over for him, and proceeded to take him through the steps of his program. I was going to go back to reading the articles in my folder, when I remembered the folder Don had given me.

Fred McLaren's report was succinct, and there were few supporting documents. He had been assigned to interview a group of suspects who were known to be in the Los Angeles area in the days after the burglary in the Gardner. There were sixteen of them. I made note of their names and contact information, then settled in to read the interviews. The first few were pretty unremarkable. Small time hoods and fences whose names popped up in the system because they had been involved in art crimes of one type or another. Then I came across the interview with Mason Terwilliger. The name alone was enough to attract attention. Not that I'd ever heard of him, but that I hadn't realized there were actually people in the world named Terwilliger.

Mason Terwilliger was a small time art thief. He specialized in stealing small stuff from low-risk locations. He wasn't making a good living at it, but he was getting by. He had once worked with a group from Boston, which is why McLaren interviewed him. I started flipping through the files, trying to find any information on Terwilliger's Boston connection.

The excited rustling of papers attracted Ben's attention. "Find something?"

"Maybe," I said, still skimming over the papers. "The local FBI agent interviewed a local small time art thief, and the file mentions that he had once worked with a group from Boston. Unfortunately I haven't found any of the names of his Boston associates."

Don came over and looked over my shoulder. "I can probably find it in the computer. What was the local thief's name?"

"Mason Terwilliger," I said, glancing up for Don's reaction. "Seriously. Fred McLaren interviewed him at least once. I haven't finished reading the transcript yet."

"Okay, I'll see what I can find," Don picked up his cup of coffee and headed out to his desk.

I went back to reading the transcript. Terwilliger wasn't a very promising suspect. I doubted if he'd know a real Manet if it bit him. I don't really know anything about interrogation techniques, but McLaren didn't seem to know what he was doing. I wondered if this was why he was a former agent. The questions were rambling and the answers came nowhere near answering the questions. I looked around. Don wasn't back yet, so I stood and went in search of him.

He was sitting at his desk, tapping away at his keyboard. "Excuse me," I said.

"Hey," he looked up, smiling, "What's up?"

"I was wondering if you found anything. And I also wanted to know about this agent McLaren."

"What did you want to know?"

"Well, I've been reading his transcripts, and, well, I don't know a lot about interrogation techniques, but, well, he didn't seem to know what he was doing."

"Really?" He tapped a few more keys, and brought up a page with Fred McLaren's name and photograph on it. He scrolled down. "I'm looking for the reason for his separation from the agency... Hmm... it doesn't look like it was his decision to leave. Let's see. His last case was the Gardner investigation." Don chuckled. "Apparently you're not the only one who questioned his abilities."

"He was canned?" I leaned forward to look at the screen. "I am allowed to look, aren't I?"

"Sure. You're a consultant on the case, and McLaren has become part of the case now." He glanced up at me. "Of course, you shouldn't talk about what you see here."

"Don't worry, Agent Eppes. My lips are sealed."

"Good," he said with a wry grin and a twinkle in his eyes. "I wouldn't want to have to kill you."

I pulled a chair over and sat beside Don. "So what does all this mean?"

"This is McLaren's personnel file. For the twelve months before his termination," he gave me a sidelong glance, "and by that I mean he was fired, not killed, he had several negative comments in his file. Poor work habits. Here you go: ineffective in questioning witnesses and suspects." He pushed his chair back. "I'm going to get Megan to have a look at this. She's our profiler, and she might have some insight into this guy."

I was mildly disappointed, but I asked, "Should I get back to reading the files?"

"That would probably a better use of your time and talents. But," he patted me on the shoulder, "you done good. Go, find us some more persons of interest."


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter 25

Everybody looked up when Don and I appeared in the door to the conference room. "Megan," Don said, "I need your help with something." Then he turned back to me and said, "Thanks, Maggie. I'll let you know what we find out."

I tried to look coolly professional, but on the inside I was doing a happy dance. I grinned at Ben when I sat back down. "I found something Don thought might be helpful. He's checking it out now. How are you guys doing?"

I glanced from Ben to Charlie to Farnsworth, and could tell it wasn't going well. At least I didn't see any blood. But Charlie looked like he had run out of ways to explain two plus two equals four to a newborn. Farnsworth spoke first, "They're trying to explain this to me, but I'm afraid I don't have a head for all this arithmetic stuff."

"I don't either," Ben said, "but you have to admit Charlie's results are astonishing."

"True," Farnsworth said grudgingly. "I had read about Hany Farid's work a few years ago, but didn't realize anyone was still pursuing it. After a big splash in a few journals, and a couple of TV and radio interviews, there was nothing but silence. I figured it hadn't panned out. But this," he gestured at Charlie's computer. "This does seem impressive. I'd like to see it tested with more paintings. Maybe," he glanced at Ben with raised eyebrows, "a few John Singer Sargents."

"I'd welcome that challenge," Ben said quietly.

I shook my head and went back to my folders. The next few McLaren interviews were as useless as the first few had been. I was skimming the interrogation of a small time fence, when I heard Emma whistle softly. I looked up to see her smiling as she read one of the reports from Don's drug bust. She glanced at Colby and David, and realizing she already had their attention, said, "This gang member, Antonio Cruz, he's been in Boston."

"Really?" David said. "You sure it's the same guy?"

She nodded. "I'm pretty sure. Let me call my office and have them fax me the information." When she had completed her call, she said, "We'll know in a few minutes."

"What was he doing in Boston that made him that memorable to an FBI agent?" Colby asked.

"He was conferring with a few of our local, low level mobsters. It was the first time I was aware of your Crips dealing with our mob, so it caught my attention. I did notify your office. They were very careful, and even though we knew they were meeting, we weren't able to find out what they were meeting about. I assumed it was drugs coming our way. Colombia to Los Angeles is a lot more common than Colombia to Boston."

"True," Colby said. "Sometimes it seems like we're the port of entry for everything coming out of Colombia."

Don and Megan returned, looking grim. "I tried contacting Fred McLaren, but there's no answer at his house, and his cell phone was disconnected. I tried his office, but, of course it's Sunday and sane people aren't working."

"Why are you trying to find McLaren?" David asked.

"Maggie thought his interrogations of the Gardner persons of interest were poor. He asked all the wrong questions. He didn't ask follow up questions when an interviewee said something strange. I checked his personnel file, and he was fired shortly afterwards for incompetence, so that may be all it is. But it could be something more sinister, and I don't want to leave any loose ends this time around. He's working for a local private investigator. Megan thinks it might be worth our while to find him and ask him about these interviews."

Megan continued, "From what I saw in these interviews and in his personnel file, there's a chance – a slim chance – that he might have been, well, less than above board. He didn't take being fired very well..."

"Who does?" Colby said, grinning.

"He took it worse than most. He filed a few complaints, then once he started working for the P.I. he dropped his complaints."

"What kind of complaints?" Emma asked.

"Sexism. Age discrimination. He also claimed that he was fired because his supervisor was jealous of him. Sounds like he is a little power hungry, and he definitely does not take rejection well."

Don said, "We'll keep trying to get in touch with him. From what Megan said, if he believes we're coming to him because we can't solve this case, he'll be more than happy to share his knowledge with us."

"And maybe," Colby said, "we can figure out whether he was just incompetent or involved with some of the lowlifes he interrogated."

"So," Don said as he sat, "did you guys find anything interesting while I was gone?"

"Not much," Colby said, grinning. "Just a possible connection between our Crips and the Boston mafia."

"Whoa!" Don said, "that was fast. How...?"

"Emma thinks she recognized one of the guys we busted. She's getting his Boston file faxed here so we can compare notes."

"He contacted a couple of our Boston mobsters. We don't know what it was regarding, but this is too big a coincidence to let it go."

Charlie stood, wiped his writing from a whiteboard, and began filling it up again. "This might be a key to linking our social networks. We've got our Crips, the Colombians, and now a possible concrete link to Boston. If we can solidify the link between the Gardner theft, Damiano, and the mob, we'll really be on to something. I need..."

"... more data," Don, Colby, Megan and David chorused.

Charlie turned, blushing. "Am I that predictable?"

"Yep," Colby said as he turned back to his papers.


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter 26

We rummaged through the papers until somebody's stomach growled. Don grinned and looked at his watch. "What do you say we take a lunch break?"

Nobody admitted having the growling stomach, but we were all pretty anxious to get lunch. Charlie put his marker down and said, "Why don't we go over to the Blue Tusk? They have good food..."

"And good beer," Colby added.

"And," Don said, "Ben can tell us if their pub grub is authentic."

Ben looked up at that. "Fish and chips? Bubble and squeak?"

"Bubble and what?" David asked.

"Squeak. It's cabbage and potatoes fried together."

David grimaced. "Ahhh, I think I'll stick with the less authentic burger and fries."

The Blue Tusk was a cute little place. I'm guessing that if it hadn't been Sunday, the place would have been packed. As it was, the number of customers doubled when we walked in the door. The barkeep greeted us in a broad cockney accent. "Good afternoon, ladies and gents. What can I get you today?"

Ben didn't order bubble and squeak, which made us all happy. Ben followed Charlie's recommendation and ordered the steak and kidney pie, adding a pint of Guinness. I opted for fish and chips and sweet hard cider. We stood, sipping our drinks as the others ordered. When everybody had their drinks, we pulled two tables together and sat.

Don lifted his beer in a toast. "We've made great progress this morning. Here's to a productive afternoon!"

We clinked our glasses together, and Don continued, "I really do want to thank all of you for your work on this case. I feel personally responsible for the loss of ..." he remembered the other customers and said, "the painting. And I appreciate the effort everyone is making to recover it."

"You know," Jason Farnsworth said, "if you do recover the painting, you'll be well on your way to solving what is arguably the biggest art theft in this country's history."

"Dr. Farnsworth," Don said, "I have to remind you that the information you have access to in my office is not to be discussed in public. This is a case currently under investigation, and you really do need to keep it quiet."

"I'm sorry. I'm afraid I'm not accustomed to working with law enforcement. This is the first criminal case I've been involved with. The art expert who normally works with Emma's group was out of town when this hit, and he recommended me." Farnsworth shrugged. "So feel free to tell me to shut up any time." He grinned and sipped his beer. "But I have to admit, I'm amazed by Charlie's program."

"Thanks," Charlie said. He looked at Farnsworth as if he were waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Farnsworth noticed Charlie's expression. "I don't know if I'll ever understand the math behind it, but the results are phenomenal." He glanced at Ben. "Do you think something like that program could be helpful in the Rembrandt Research Project?"

"I'd never thought of that," Ben said, putting his glass down. "It would take the subjectivity out of the process of authenticating paintings."

"Wait," Megan said, "before you get any further, what's the Rembrandt project?"

"Sorry," Farnsworth said, grinning, "back in the '60's, the Dutch set out to catalog all known Rembrandt paintings. They recently issued their fourth volume."

"Actually," Charlie interrupted, "the mathematicians are already on top of this one. I've mentioned Hany Farid and his work with the Bruegel paintings. Well, Dan Rockmore actually worked with Hany Farid on that project, and has gone on to working with Rembrandt paintings in the Metropolitan Museum in New York."

"I've heard about that," Ben said, "I read an article, maybe six months ago, about that study. If I remember, there was a curator at the Met who didn't believe Dr. Rockmore's theories."

Charlie rolled his eyes. "Sounds like the curator was close-minded..."

Ben chuckled. "Probably. There is a lot of that going around."

"Anybody hungry?" a cheerful voice with an Irish brogue interrupted our conversation. We all looked up at the red-haired young woman carrying a tray full of delightful-smelling food.

"Definitely!" Colby said.

The bartender came over with a second tray and started serving us. "What brings you folks in here on a Sunday?" He glanced at Don and Charlie. "I usually see you on weekdays."

Don shrugged. "Just a little extra work, Mick."

"Colleen and I know how that feels, don't we, love?"

"Aye, that we do."

Ben thanked Mick as he put his plate in front of him. Mick perked up immediately. "Whereabouts are you from, Mate?"

"Chipping Norton, in Oxfordshire," Ben said with a smile. "And I'm willing to bet you were born within sound of Bow's bells."

Mick laughed. "Is it that obvious, then? Even after all these years in the colonies?"

"It is, Mate," Ben said. "And I'm told the food is as authentic as the accent."

"Well, I've had to tone some of the grub down for the Yanks, you know, but we pride ourselves on our authenticity. You folks enjoy your lunch, and let me or the missus know if you need anything."

The food was indeed delicious. I've only visited England a dozen times, so I'm not the expert Ben is, but judging from his expression when he tasted his first bite of steak and kidney pie, the Blue Tusk was a little taste of home.

"Well, was I right, Ben?" Charlie said, grinning.

"You were, Charlie. I'd say you were a blinking genius."

Amita grinned at Charlie. "But of course, we knew that." She turned to Ben. "How long have you been in the states, Ben?"

"Let's see, it's been five years. I'm about ready to apply for citizenship."

"Since you married a citizen, you could have applied after three years," Megan said.

"We've only been married a year," Ben said, "but I suppose that means I could have applied last year. Once I get some time, I'll start the process. I'm afraid, though, that my mum will be disappointed. She loves Maggie like a daughter, but I think she would have preferred I marry another Brit."

I added, "Ben's first wife was English. She passed away six years ago. And, Ben, your mum never made me feel unwelcome."

"Of course, she wouldn't. But if I'd married a Brit, I wouldn't be an ocean away from her," Ben said. "But," he said, glancing around the table, "if I'd stayed in Oxford, I never would have gotten involved in this amazing case."

"Nice segue, Professor," I said, squeezing his hand. "So, what were you and Charlie saying about – what was his name? Rockford? -- and the Rembrandts?"

"Rockmore," Charlie supplied. "Dan Rockmore. His work with Hany Farid was the basis for my program. Farid seemed to be more interested in the math. Rockmore is an applied mathematician, but he's interested in art as well. He was the one who started the team working on wavelet analysis. The last article I saw about them emphasized the work with the Rembrandts at the Met. It's probably the same article Ben read."

"It sounds like it is," Ben said. "I haven't seen anything about the results of their study, though. Have you, Charlie?"

"No, I haven't. And I'm kind of surprised, given the amount of attention paid to the study originally."

Don checked his watch. "Well, if everybody's finished eating, we should get back to our own study."

A few minutes later, we had cleaned our plates and emptied our glasses. Megan handed the bill to Charlie, who looked stunned for a moment until she said, "You can pay it if you want, but I was just hoping you could figure out who owes what."

Author's Note: Here's a link to the article about Dan Rockmore's work with the Rembrandt paintings: I got a kick out of this quote from Dan Rockmore (who is a real person; I don't own him either): _"The fact that you can put everything on the computer means that everything is numbers," Rockmore says. "As soon as everything is numbers, it makes perfect sense to ask mathematical questions about what the numbers represent." If he's right — if computers can distinguish between artists more accurately than connoisseurs can — the art world is in for some high-stakes corrections." _


	27. Chapter 27

Chapter 27

As we walked back to the office, Ben and I waited to let Charlie catch up with us. "Charlie, I forgot to ask this morning. How are you feeling? You didn't look so good last night."

He shrugged. "Just a little sore, especially when I turn the wrong way. And it's been hard to sleep the last few nights. Ben, how are you doing?"

"Okay. Like you, I'm sore."

"Last night his hand looked like it might be getting infected, so he's been careful to put antibiotic ointment on it. The two of you were very lucky."

Charlie shuddered, "We sure were. That was one big knife he had. I hope now that he got what he wanted, he's gone back to Boston."

"I hope so, too," Ben said, "Have there been any reports about his movements since Thursday?"

"Don didn't say. We'll have to ask him when we get back."

Jason and Emma walked past us, both on their cell phones. I caught bits of their conversations, and wondered again why people feel the need to talk loudly when they're on cell phones. Jason was saying something about Charlie's program and the Manets. Emma was talking about warrants and Johnny Damiano. Looks like Don's team wasn't the only group working on Sunday.

"Ask me what?" Don said as he came up beside Charlie.

"Hey, bro! I didn't see you sneaking up on me. Do you have any idea where Johnny Damiano is now? We were just saying we hope he left town."

"I haven't heard anything about him yet. I don't think he's boarded a plane, but he could have been using an alias. Why?"

"Well, Maggie mentioned how lucky Ben and I were, and that made me think... well, if he didn't get all he wanted here, he might be back. With that big knife."

"What else could he want?" Don said. "He got the painting. I don't think either of you has anything else he'd want."

"Well, since we don't even know exactly what he wanted with the painting. Or even how he knew Ben had it..."

"Crap," Don whispered. He glanced at me. "Sorry. We still have that leak to pursue. We still haven't found the connection between Damiano and those of us who knew where the painting was going to be."

"Well, Ben, Maggie and I didn't even know you were bringing the painting to Ben's office, so we're in the clear," Charlie said with a trace of annoyance.

"Of course, Charlie. I never doubted any of you. Remember what I said last night. I trust my team, and that includes you guys." He glanced at Emma and Jason, who were still chatting loudly about twenty feet in front of us. He lowered his voice, "I'm checking on Emma and Farnsworth. It's kind of hard, especially with Emma, to check without letting them know I'm doing it." He looked at me. "Maggie, do you think you and Ben could try to find out if there's any dirt on Farnsworth?"

I chuckled. "I'm sure Ben would love to help you out there."

"Oh, you're right, my dear, I would love to help. I've got connections throughout the art world, and some of them are very discreet. Others," I rolled my eyes as he continued, "others thrive on gossip. But I know who I can trust."

"Thanks. We've got to find our leak and plug it. I don't need to have the bad guys one step ahead of us all the way. And somehow, they are."

When we returned to our conference room, Ben booted his laptop, and moved next to me, leaving Jason to quiz Charlie about his program. He started by googling "Jason Farnsworth," and I went back to reading the papers in the folder in front of me. To keep Farnsworth from being suspicious, I asked Ben, "Since you have your computer up and running, will you make notes for me?"

"Sure," he said, as he clicked on the first link that Google gave him. "Let me open my word processor. There." He clicked on Open Office and waited as a blank document opened. A new window, showing Farnsworth's biography opened on top of the blank document. He resized the files so he could grab a corner of the document and cover the internet windows quickly. "Okay, just give me anything interesting you come across."

As he surfed the net, I came across a second interesting character. McLaren had interviewed an associate of Mason Terwilliger, a Casey Cheevers. Cheevers was a fence who somehow managed to get a decent price for the junk Terwilliger brought him. Like Terwilliger, he had contacts in Boston. But unlike Terwilliger, he had also worked with the Crips. McLaren, interrogator par excellence that he was, hadn't pursued the Crips connection, and he had accepted Cheevers' dismissal of his Boston connection. I set the Cheevers interview aside and went on to the next.

Emma had glanced up. "Maggie? Did you find something interesting?"

"Oh, just another small time local guy with connections to Boston. But this guy worked with the Crips as well. I figured I'd go through them all and then give Don the interesting ones."

"Who is he?" Emma asked.

"Casey Cheevers. He's a fence who also worked with Terwilliger and the Crips."

Emma thought for a moment, then said, "I don't believe I've heard of him. Sorry to interrupt."

"That's okay." I went back to work.

Farnsworth stood and stretched, and started towards us. Ben clicked on the document and added Cheevers' name to the list he already had. I was surprised to see he had five or six names listed already, when I hadn't given him anything yet.

Farnsworth dropped a folder in front of Don. "Nothing interesting here. What would you like me to do next?"

Don dug through his pile and handed Farnsworth a stack of folders. "There you go. That should keep you out of trouble for a while."

Farnsworth looked at the folders dubiously. "Thanks."

He walked past us again and glanced over Ben's shoulder at the computer screen. "Finding anything interesting, Cole?"

"Hmm? Not really. I'm just taking notes for Maggie and googling the names she gives me. So far, nothing has turned up."

"Too bad," Jason said, "Say, have you ever tried googling yourself? It's amazing the things that turn up." He patted Ben on the shoulder and went back to his seat. I glanced at Don. He was staring at Jason. When he noticed me looking at him, he raised his eyebrows and looked back down at the files in front of him.

"Well," Ben said, clicking on his browser window, "I'll give it a try." He typed "Bennington Cole," and hit return. I leaned over to see what popped up. I'd googled Ben's name many times, and the article that popped up when Ben hit return was one neither of us had ever seen before. He clicked on the link, and an article entitled, "Art Expert On the Trail of the Gardner Thieves?" opened. "Shite," Ben whispered.

"What?" Don said as he came over and stood behind Ben. "Aw, crap. Dr. Farnsworth, how did you know about this article?"

Jason shrugged. "I was doing some research of my own last night. When I googled 'Gardner,' that showed up. I forgot about it until Ben mentioned Google."

Ben scrolled slowly through the article, shaking his head. "They know about the Manet. They know about Damiano. They don't mention him by name, but they do mention that the painting was stolen while I was examining it."

"How on earth could they get all that information?" I asked, knowing nobody would have the answer.


	28. Chapter 28

Chapter 28

"I want a printout of that article," Don said with a hard edge to his voice. "And, Ben, come with me."

Ben stood, handed me his laptop and followed Don from the room.

"Don," I said, standing. "What..."

"Stay here, Maggie. I just have a few questions for your husband."

I sat back down and scowled at Don's back, then at Farnsworth. "What the hell are you doing, Dr. Farnsworth? Are you trying to get back at Ben for making a fool of you?"

Farnsworth looked genuinely surprised. "No! Not like this! I wouldn't undermine the investigation. Not when there's a chance that the Gardner theft could be solved."

"You're forgetting I saw the way you acted at the Getty Museum yesterday. You don't give a damn about the investigation."

"Maggie," Megan said softly. "It sounds like you could use a break."

I shook my head. "No, thanks, Megan. I'm good. It's just frustrating." I blinked back tears. Of all the times to get emotional!

"I know. It's gotta be tough, getting settled in a new job in a new area, and then the attack in your office."

I shrugged, not trusting my voice. The last thing I needed at that moment was somebody being kind and understanding. It would turn me into a whimpering pile of jello.

Lucky for me, Farnsworth decided to pipe up. "Well, Megan, if your boss hadn't made the mistake of..."

Megan turned on Farnsworth, and for the first time I actually felt sorry for him. "Listen, Dr. Farnsworth, you are here ONLY because Special Agent Galster was under the impression that you could contribute SOMETHING positive to this investigation. You're lucky I'm not the lead agent on this case, or your ass would be on the next plane to Boston."

I saw David and Colby exchanging amused glances before I dared to look at Farnsworth. I don't believe I ever saw anybody sputter before that moment. His mouth hung open and twitched soundlessly.

Charlie glanced up at the disturbance, and grinned at Farnsworth. "I wouldn't mess with Megan. She teaches Krav Maga, and she won't hesitate to use it on you."

"What the hell is Krav Maga?" Farnsworth said, clearly relieved at the distraction.

"She'll give you a demonstration if you're not careful," Colby growled.

Farnsworth's eyes widened. He was clearly trying to decide if he was being teased. He decided to play it safe. "Okay. This isn't getting us anywhere." He went back to reading the file in front of him.

I looked back at Ben's laptop. "I wonder where the information in this article came from," I said to nobody in particular. I scrolled back to the top of the article and began to read silently. _Remember the biggest ever art theft in US history? Well, one of the paintings stolen sixteen years ago from the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in Boston has resurfaced, only to be stolen again. Dr. Bennington Cole, published expert on the impressionists, who now teaches art history at a little backwater art college in upstate New York, had his hands on the Manet that was stolen. Unfortunately, he let it slip through his fingers... _I closed my eyes and leaned back in the chair. After a few deep breaths, I forced myself to continue. _Working in conjunction with the FBI in Los Angeles, but without the one key piece of physical evidence, Dr. Cole is attempting to solve a crime that has eluded experts for sixteen years. Will he succeed where the FBI and Interpol have failed? Stay tuned, boys and girls._

I looked up at the rest of the group sitting around the table. "How do I print this for Don?"

"Here," Amita said as she came over and sat in Ben's chair. "Let me." She pressed a few keys, called up the print setup window and selected a printer. "This is the printer next to Don's desk." She put a hand on my shoulder. "Don't worry, Maggie. We'll figure this out."

I tried to smile. "Thanks. I hope you're right."

She waved a hand at the group sitting around the table. "With all this brainpower in one room, how can we fail?"

This time I really smiled. "Good point. Thanks, Amita."

She went back to her computer, and I went back to the article. I clicked on the "home" icon to try to find out what I could about the publisher. It took me to the home page of something called 'art against the wall.' This time I clicked on the "history" icon. 'Art against the wall' was originally an underground newspaper in the late '60's. It started as sixteen mimeographed pages, later printed as a tabloid newspaper. Finally, it became a website. But its underground mission never changed.

I looked up as Ben came back into the room. He sat back next to me, and said, "Don got the printout. He's trying to contact the author now. I doubt if he'll learn anything though. First amendment, freedom of the press and all that. Anything exciting happen while I was gone?"

I glanced at Megan, who grinned and shook her head. "Nah, just reading boring reports."

"Good," he looked at the computer. "Did you learn anything about this article?"

"Not much. Have you ever heard of 'art against the wall?'"

His brow furrowed, and he rubbed his chin. "Sounds familiar. It's a newspaper, isn't it? Kind of avant garde, articles berating art snobs like us?"

"Got it in one," I said. "I don't know if they publish a print copy any more or if they're just on the web. I was just starting to read up on them when you came back. By the way, how'd your conversation with Don go?"

Ben glanced up, then looked at me. "Okay. He just wanted to know what I knew about this 'art against the wall' group. Or person. Or whatever it is." He shrugged. "I have no idea where they got their information, and told him as much." He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. "So does anybody know where we go from here?"

Megan said, "We go through this," she waved at the stacks of folders on the table, "until we find a clue."

David shook his head. "I have never felt less like I had a clue." He grinned. "I don't think that sentence even made any sense."

Colby shook his head. "The scary thing was I think I understood it."

Megan glanced at her watch. "I think we're reaching the point of diminishing returns." She smirked at Charlie. "Did I use that correctly?"

Charlie looked up from his computer. "Well, in an idiomatic sense, you're fine. Strictly speaking, 'diminishing returns' is an economic term, short for 'diminishing marginal returns'..."

"Okay! I'll settle for idiomatic," Megan said, laughing. "I'm gonna go tell Don we've diminished our returns enough for one day."


	29. Chapter 29

Chapter 29

After Megan left, Charlie said, "As long as it looks like you guys are wrapping up for today, why don't you give me anything interesting you have for me? I'll input it and hopefully have some results tomorrow morning. Colby? You have anything?"

Data for the Whiz Kid!" Colby grinned and handed Charlie a stack of folders. "The Boston FBI interviewed these people, and I think they're people I'd like to have a talk with."

"Tingling Spidey Sense?" Charlie said as he opened the top folder.

"I'd prefer to think of it as my professionally trained intuition," Colby said with a shrug. "But Spidey Sense works for me, too."

David handed Charlie a stack, "These are interesting too. But this one," he held up a single folder, "really deserves a second look. She's a Boston art historian with underworld connections."

Farnsworth's head snapped up, and I could swear all the blood rushed out of his face. "What's her name? It might be someone I know."

"Ruth Ann Seeloff," David said without looking at the folder.

Farnsworth blinked, then shook his head. "No. Sorry. Never heard of her. There are a lot of art historians in Boston, and I don't pretend to even know half of them. She could have moved, gotten married, retired, died..."

David looked amused. "It's okay. I didn't expect her to be anybody you knew. Charlie's program will find out who she's connected to, if anybody. And I'll do a background check to make sure she's still among the living."

"Okay," Charlie said, "I'll input her first. Should be interesting. How about you, Jason? Did you find any interesting suspects for me?"

"Just these three. Of course, I'm not a professional at this, so I may have missed something."

"That's okay," Charlie said, taking the folders. "At this point I'm taking anything I can get. We'll let the algorithm sort 'em out. Emma? You have anything?"

"Well, Don's had me looking at the drug bust, and not the Gardner stuff. Here's the file on that Antonio Cruz kid, along with the information my office faxed me. He is the same guy who showed up in Boston and met with the mobster. My office also sent me information on the mobster. I figured you'd need it for your algorithm."

"Thanks, Emma. This is great. Other than the painting, this is our only real connection between the drug case and the Gardner," Charlie put her folder on the top of his stack.

Ben and I had just given him the files we had selected when Don and Megan returned. Don looked tired, but he smiled as he spoke, "Thank you all for coming in today. I think we've made a big dent in all this..." he waved at the boxes of files ... "stuff. I don't want you wasting your whole Sunday in here, especially since Megan tells me I'm driving you too hard. I'm going to stay for a little while, and you're welcome to stay..." he paused as Megan shot him a warning glance, "No you're not. I want you all to leave now."

"Don," Charlie said, holding up his stack of folders. "I'm going back to my office to enter this information. Okay if I take the folders with me?"

"Sure. Just don't lose them." Don grinned. "Hey, I've seen your office! If it's okay with Megan, why don't we get back together tomorrow sometime. Your classes don't start until Wednesday, right?"

"Sounds good to me," Charlie said, "Do you mind meeting in my office? I have meetings on and off all day, starting at ten. It'll be hard for me to leave campus."

"How about we meet you in your office at nine? Or would eight be better?"

"Eight?" Charlie shook his curly head. "No way. Nine will be a struggle. I'll probably be up until four in the morning entering this stuff. Hey, boss," Charlie added, grinning slyly, "We get double time for nights and Sundays, right?"

Don laughed. "Thanks, buddy. I needed a good laugh today. You professors read your contracts. The rest of us are on salary, so forget about it. Besides, you're all taxpayers. If you make too much, your taxes will just go up."

Colby shook his head, "I never thought about it that way, Don. No wonder I never seem to get ahead."

When Ben and I reached the car, I finally asked him, "What did you and Don talk about?"

"Farnsworth," he said. "He wanted to know if I'd come up with anything implicating Farnsworth in this mess."

"And had you?"

"Not really. Though his reaction to the name of that Boston art historian was odd, to say the least."

"It was. He obviously had heard of her. I wonder if the agents will push to find out what he knows."

"I hope so. I don't like him very much," I added.

"Really?" Ben said, raising his eyebrows. "I didn't notice."

"You know, when we were walking back from lunch, he was on the phone telling someone about the Manet."

"You don't think he was bold enough to leak the information while we were all standing there?" Ben asked.

I laughed. "Of course, you're right. I don't think even Farnsworth would have that much nerve. But we know it's not us, and I can't picture anyone on Don's team or Emma doing it. They're too professional, and it wouldn't benefit them."

"I'll keep checking when we get home. Maybe I can turn something up."

"And you should Google Ruth Ann Seeloff, too. Maybe we'll find one of Charlie's connections."

"He is amazing, isn't he? He sees everything in terms of maths, and it seems to work for him. I've tried to follow his train of thought, but I just don't see what he sees," Ben said, shaking his head.

"And, you know, he comes up with stuff using his numbers that I could see Don and the other agents coming up from their training."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, his idea of checking the connections between the people involved with the different crimes. It seems like that is a basic part of investigating a crime. But he sees it as numbers, where the mathematically challenged among us would see it as something that would just make sense. I mean, if you're investigating two crimes, it makes sense to see if they're connected."

"Right, but he actually comes up with a way to quantify the information so he can plug it into the computer. I wonder why people's brains work the way they do."

I laughed. "I don't know. But I have a feeling that if anyone can solve the Gardner theft, it will be this group of people. Wouldn't that be amazing?"

"It would, but let's not get our hopes up, love. There's a lot of work to be done first."

We stopped at the sushi bar around the corner from our apartment and picked up sushi and miso soup to go. Ben had introduced me to sushi a couple of years ago, and I've loved it since then. I'm not quite as adventurous as Ben is, but give me a good California roll, a couple of crabmeat nijiri, and I'm good to go.

After we had set up our laptops on the dining room table, brewed a pot of tea, and gotten out plates, spoons and chopsticks, we were ready to get back to work. I googled Ruth Ann Seeloff, and found a few news articles about her, but the most recent was from 1998. That article listed her age as 62, and no obituaries popped up, so I assumed she had retired. I told Ben what I'd found, and he suggested I google "Seeloff" and "Boston" to see if I could find anything else. What I found amazed me. "Ben, look at this." I turned my computer so he could see the screen.

"The Museum of Fine Arts? In Boston? Isn't that where Farnsworth works?"

"Yep. This is the staff directory. Farnsworth is the curator of the American art collection, and one of his employees is Anna Seeloff Singleton. No wonder he looked strange when David mentioned Ruth Ann Seeloff's name."

"We should call Don," Ben said. "This could be the source of the leak." He went to one of the bookshelves and pulled out the phone book. "I'll just try the FBI office, unless you have his number."

"No, I don't. He might still be there."

Ben called, and learned that Don and the rest of his team had left. He left a voice mail telling Don what we had discovered, and promised to have more information when we met at Charlie's office.

Meanwhile, I was printing what we had found, and was doing further searches on Anna Singleton. None of the articles I found mentioned Ruth Ann Seeloff, but then again, if I were related to someone with mob connections, I wouldn't put that in my resume either.

At nine o'clock we turned on the TV to watch "Mystery!" on PBS. They were showing an "Inspector Morse" episode. Not only were the mysteries very good, but they also took place in Oxford, and we both enjoyed watching the familiar landmarks of Ben's alma mater. Nothing like drinking tea, watching Inspector Morse and finding clues to solve our very own mystery.


	30. Chapter 30

Chapter 30

We walked past Charlie's office a little before eight o'clock. The light was on, the door was open, and Charlie was sound asleep on the couch. "Aww," I whispered as I pushed his door until it was almost shut. "I'll come back and make sure he's awake in time for our meeting."

As we walked away, I said, "It's been years since I've pulled an all-nighter."

Ben chuckled. "All-nighters are the province of the young."

We had settled in, made a pot of tea and started working on our lesson plans when Amita knocked on the door frame. "Hi. Have you guys seen Charlie today? His office is locked."

"Locked?" Ben said, standing. "We went by his office on the way in, and he was sound asleep on the couch. Maggie was going to wake him up in time for the meeting."

We hurried down to Charlie's office, and Ben knocked on the door. No answer. I pressed my face to the frosted glass to try to see inside. I saw some kind of light. It was orange, and flickering. "It looks like fire! Ben, can you get this door open?"

Amita said, "There's a fire extinguisher around the corner. I'll get it. You can use it to smash the window."

A moment later, she handed Ben a large extinguisher. He smashed the glass and reached in to unlock the door. Charlie was slumped over his desk. Next to his left arm, a pile of papers was burning.

"Maggie, Amita, get him out of here," Ben yelled, "I'll put the fire out."

I pulled his left arm away from the flames. The fabric had begun to smolder. I smelled some kind of chemical as Amita and I pulled Charlie to his feet. "Charlie!" Amita yelled. "Wake up!" She shook his right arm, but there was no response.

"We'll have to drag him," I said. We each took an arm, and half carried, half dragged Charlie into the hallway. When we had laid Charlie on the floor, Amita took out her cell phone and called 911. I rolled Charlie onto his back and gasped. "He's bleeding. Amita, make sure they send an ambulance."

Ben came into the hallway, carrying the extinguisher. "The fire's out. How's Charlie?"

"Not good, Ben," I said. His shirt had bloody spots where he had been cut last week. But a new, larger patch of blood was spreading on his abdomen. "Amita called for an ambulance."

I leaned forward and sniffed his shirt. "There's some kind of chemical. Smell it?"

Ben and Amita sniffed. "Lighter fluid?" Amita said.

Ben nodded. "I think so."

Amita looked up at Ben. "What was burning on his desk?"

"Folders. Some were reduced to ashes, but I think they were the files from Don's office. And his computer is gone."

Charlie's head moved, and he moaned softly.

"Charlie!" Amita said, brushing his hair back from his face. "It's okay. The ambulance is on the way."

"Call Don," Charlie said softly, then gasped and rolled onto his side, folding his arms across his belly. "Tell him..."

"He'll be here in a few minutes," I said. "You just relax."

"Can't. My computer... the files..." Charlie pulled away, and tried to sit up. He failed, rolling again onto his side with a loud groan.

Ben knelt beside me, and said, "Charlie. Do you have any idea who did this?"

"Damiano," he whispered.

Ben grasped Charlie's arms and gently pulled them away from his middle. "Let me have a look, Charlie." He pulled Charlie's tee shirt up to reveal a deep puncture wound oozing blood. "All right, Charlie, this is going to hurt. I'm going to put pressure on your wound to stop the bleeding. Okay?"

Charlie nodded and closed his eyes. When Ben pressed his hand against the wound, Charlie gasped and tried to pull Ben's hand away. I grasped Charlie's wrists and pulled his hands away from Ben's hand. "Shhh, Charlie. Just try to relax."

"What's going on?" Don's voice echoed down the hallway. "Charlie!" Don and his team ran towards us.

Charlie opened his eyes, and raised his head. "Don?"

"Hey, buddy, what happened?" Don said, sinking to his knees beside his brother.

"Don," Charlie whispered. "It was Damiano. He took the files and my computer. I tried to stop him." He reached up with a bloody hand and grabbed Don's arm. "I tried."

"I know you tried, buddy. It's okay. Relax."

"Why's everybody keep telling me that?" Charlie smiled weakly.

"Because it's good advice," Don said. He looked up at the rest of us. "You called an ambulance, right?"

Amita said, "I called them, Don. They should be here any minute." She touched Charlie's face, and blinked back tears. "Don, his desk was on fire. He almost... the fire almost..."

"It's a good thing you found him in time," Don said. "I thought I smelled smoke." He turned to his team. "You guys want to have a look in his office? I'm staying with Charlie."

"Sure, Don," Colby said as he passed. He looked down at Charlie and said, "Hang in there, Whiz Kid."

"I"m hangin', Colby," Charlie said softly.

We heard sirens in the distance. Amita stood up, "They're here. I'll go let them know where we are."

"No," I said, "You stay here with Charlie. I'll go." I stood. "Stay with him."

I told the fire fighters they could go, and took the paramedics to Charlie. The fire fighters decided to investigate anyway, and followed us up the stairs.

Charlie was moaning when we arrived. His face was deathly pale, and his eyes were squeezed shut. Ben stood and stepped back to give the paramedics room to work. Amita and Don stayed by Charlie's side until the paramedics made them move. "Don," I said as he stood, "Ben and I saw Charlie before this happened. He was sleeping on the couch when we came in, a little before eight."

"You sure he was sleeping?"

"Yes. He was on his back, and we would have seen..." I glanced down at Charlie, then looked away. "He was definitely sleeping."

"Sorry," Don said, "I had to be sure. Take a look in his office now, and let me know if anything looks out of place. Though," he added with a wry grin, "I don't know how anyone would be able to tell."

"Don," Ben said softly, "do you mind if I go ... wash up first?"

Don looked at Ben's hands and bit his lip. "Go ahead." He grimaced as the paramedics lifted Charlie onto the gurney. He grasped Charlie's hand. "Hey, buddy, I'll see you at the hospital."

Charlie's eyelids fluttered open, and he looked around until he found Don's face. "Mmkay. I'm sorry... I tried..." he sighed and closed his eyes.

Megan came up beside Don and squeezed his shoulder. "Don, why don't you go with him? We'll finish up here." Don started to protest, but Megan interrupted him, "You'll need to question him about what happened. This way you can be with him when he wakes up."

Don nodded. "Thanks," he said, then he turned to follow the paramedics.


	31. Chapter 31

Chapter 31

After Don and the paramedics disappeared around the corner, Amita said, "I'd better go tell Larry."

"Go ahead," Megan said. "I'll call you if I hear anything, okay?"

"Thanks."

"Amita, he'll be okay," Megan squeezed Amita's arm.

"I hope you're right," Amita said as she turned and headed down the hallway.

When Ben returned from the men's room, he and I stood in the doorway of Charlie's office, and tried to see if anything looked any different. Megan stood beside us, and Colby and David were inside with the techs, looking for evidence. "Well," Ben said softly after a few moments, "it seems like days since we peeked in on Charlie. Do you notice anything that's changed since then? Other than the sadly obvious," he nodded toward Charlie's desk, covered now in charred papers and dripping liquid from the fire extinguisher.

I tried, but failed, to fight back tears. "Poor Charlie," I said. "I hope he's okay."

Megan said, "I'm sure he'll be fine. He's young and healthy, and the wound... well, I've seen worse. He'll be fine."

"Megan," Emma Galster said as she and Farnsworth approached. "What happened?"

"Emma, Dr. Farnsworth, Charlie was attacked by Damiano again. He was stabbed."

"Oh my God!" Farnsworth said, his face turning white. "Is he... is he okay?"

"I don't know," Megan said. "The ambulance just left a little while ago. But I think he'll be okay. The wound didn't look too bad."

"That's a relief," Emma said. "What happened?"

"We're not really sure. Charlie was alone when it happened. Don's gone with the ambulance. We're hoping he'll be able to talk to Charlie and find out exactly what happened." Her cell phone rang, and she answered, "Reeves... Oh, hey, Don, how's Charlie?... Okay... That's good... Yeah, they're still here... What? Really?... Wow! Okay, I'll see what I can find out... Did you need someone to pick your dad up?... Oh, that's good... He didn't! That sounds like him...Yeah, you call me the minute you hear any more, okay?... Okay, bye." A big grin spread across her face as she looked up. The rest of us were staring at her, waiting for the news. "He's gonna be okay. They're prepping him for surgery but the doctor told Don it didn't look like a very serious wound. In fact, Don just had to leave because Charlie was refusing to let them knock him out before he talked to Don."

Colby laughed, "That sounds like Charlie."

"And," Megan said, dialing her phone, "I'd better call Amita and tell her the good news."

While Megan spoke with Amita, we filled Emma and Farnsworth in on what little we knew about what had happened. Ben finished with, "But it could have been worse. It sounds as if Charlie will be all right."

Farnsworth slumped against the wall, looking incredibly relieved.

Megan put her phone away, and turned to Ben. "Don also told me you left a message on his voice mail last night, Ben. You thought you had a lead on our leak."

"Yes," Ben said, looking at Farnsworth. "We believe Dr. Farnsworth's associate, Anna Singleton may be involved. Anna Seeloff Singleton," Ben added.

David whistled softly. "Is she related to Ruth Ann Seeloff?"

"I don't know," Ben said. "Jason? Do you have any idea?"

Farnsworth looked at Ben, and slowly shook his head. "When David mentioned Ruth Ann Seeloff's name, I wondered. But I don't know."

Megan folded her arms across her chest and stared at Farnsworth. "Is Anna Singleton the person you've been calling?"

"Yes. She has kind of made the Gardner theft a hobby." He noticed Megan's look, and said, "But that's not at all unusual in Boston. Remember, the theft was huge, and unsolved, so there are bound to be theorists, and Anna is one of them."

"David," Megan said, "Why don't you call the office and see what they have on Ruth Ann and Anna? Ben, Maggie, do you mind if we go to your office instead of standing out here in the hallway?"

David made his call as we walked to our office. Farnsworth walked over to Megan. "I am so sorry for any role I may have inadvertently played in these leaks." He stopped suddenly and said, "Was Charlie hurt because of me?"

"I honestly don't know, Dr. Farnsworth. I am not thrilled that you called your associate and gave her information on an ongoing investigation. In fact, Don may decide to press charges against you, but that's his call, not mine."

David finished his call, and said, "Ruth Ann Seeloff is Anna Singleton's mother. Anna married a Boston police officer in 1990, but they got divorced last year. She has a master's degree in art history, and has worked at the Museum of Fine Arts since 1992. She has no criminal record."

Farnsworth snorted. "Well, I should hope she doesn't. The MFA does do background checks. I can't believe that Anna had anything to do with the assault on Charlie this morning. Or with the attack on Charlie and Dr. Cole the other day. She's not a violent person."

Ben opened the door to our office, and we led the crowd inside. Megan took a seat on the corner of my desk, and said, "Well, Dr. Farnsworth, Anna could be responsible for the leaks without being involved in the attacks. You implied there are a lot of people who have made the Gardner theft a hobby. The recovery of one of the paintings would have to be huge news for them. After you told Anna about the Manet, I'd be willing to bet she couldn't wait to tell someone else about it. Any idea who she would have told?"

"I honestly don't know. There are a couple of people on staff who have taken a special interest in the theft." Farnsworth hesitated. "I'll put together a list for you. Not just our staff members, but others I know in the community. It's the least I can do."

"Emma," Megan said, "can you think of any excuse for your team to take Anna Singleton in for questioning?"

"Sure," Emma said, "just the fact that Jason has been giving her information he shouldn't have been giving her. We could just bring her in as a witness. Tell her Jason is in trouble for passing the information on to her."

"I don't know," Megan said, "wouldn't that make her more likely to play down what he gave her? To protect him?"

Colby said, "You could just pass our information on to your team and let them start investigating her themselves."

"I'd really like to handle that myself," Emma said. "Why don't I call my boss and see if we can come home for now. Not that I don't appreciate your hospitality, but I think we can be of more help in Boston. What do you think, Jason?"

Jason nodded. "I think you're right. You can follow up on Anna, and I can go back to work and stay out of your way."

"And, it goes without saying, Jason, that you are not to say anything to Anna Singleton or anyone else about this. You understand that you could be in serious trouble, especially if the information you passed on to Anna led to these two attacks and the theft of the painting." Emma took out her phone and walked toward the door. "If you'll excuse me, I have a few phone calls to make."


	32. Chapter 32

Chapter 32

I refilled the electric kettle and plugged it in. "Anyone want tea or coffee? I bought a French press so you won't have to drink instant."

The three FBI agents replied with a chorus of "Coffee!" Then they laughed and added, "Please."

Farnsworth said, "What kind of tea do you have?"

"Darjeeling and Earl Grey," Ben replied.

"Mmm," Farnsworth said, smiling, "they're both good. You decide."

"Darjeeling okay, Ben?" I asked., knowing it was his favorite.

"Wonderful, love," he said. "So, Megan, what is there for us to do if Emma and Jason go back to Boston?"

"Oh, I'm sure Don will find something. There's the Crips drug bust. And we still have those boxes of documents to go through. Unless Emma and Jason want to take them back to Boston..."

"If I never see another one of those reports, it will be too soon!" Jason said, with feeling.

Colby laughed, "Imagine making a career out of reading those things!"

Megan's phone rang. "Hello? Oh, hey, Don! How's Charlie? Really? Well, I believe it of him, but not your dad. Okay... We're in Ben and Maggie's office... Sure, see you then... And you'll fill us in, right? Good. Drive carefully!" She put her phone away. "Don's on his way over. Charlie is in surgery, but he and Alan both insisted that Don get over here and catch the SOB who did that to Charlie."

"How'd Don sound?" David asked.

"Tired. Stressed. But determined. We'd better catch Damiano soon." Megan was dialing Amita's number when Amita and Larry entered the office. "Perfect timing!" she greeted them. "Don just called. He's on his way over."

"How's Charlie?" Amita asked.

"He's in surgery now, but he and Alan both told Don to get over here and catch Damiano."

Emma came back into the office, putting her cell phone into her pocket. Megan said, "So what's the word?"

"I'm heading back to Boston in the morning. Jason, unless you have some other reason to stay here, you should probably come back with me. I booked us both on the ten o'clock flight. If that's not okay, you can switch to a later flight."

"No, that's fine. I think I've done enough damage here," Jason said with a wry smile.

The electric kettle whistled, and I made the tea while Ben tried to figure out the French press. "Any of you folks ever use one of these things?" He asked after a moment.

Larry stepped forward. "I believe I can be of assistance. How many cups are we making? This unit makes a maximum of six cups."

"With the crowd we have here, you'd better make six," I said. "I'll get some more water."

By the time I returned, Don had arrived, and was sitting slumped in my chair. He started to stand when he saw me. "Don't you dare! You stay where you are. What did I miss?"

"Well, I was just telling everyone. Charlie was still in surgery when I left. The doctor said his wound appeared relatively minor. He believed they would be able to get in fairly quickly, stitch up the damage, and get back out again." He sighed and took a sip of coffee. "Charlie was in a lot of pain, but he insisted on talking to me before he let them knock him out. He wanted to apologize. He worked on the program until four this morning, and forgot to back up his work. I can't believe that after all he went through he was more worried about that damned program."

Megan said, "Well, that's Charlie for you. He's like a pit bull. Once he gets his teeth into a case, he doesn't let go."

"Now that he's gotten hurt on one of my cases, we're going to have to rethink this consulting nonsense."

Megan smiled. "I want to be there when you tell him that. I love fireworks!"

In spite of himself, Don grinned. "Well, he'll have to hear it from Dad too. Dad started to tell me off in the hospital, but Charlie told him to forget it. He wasn't giving up on this case. I think if Charlie hadn't already been in pain, Dad would have put a hurtin' on him for that. Speaking of the case, Amita, Charlie asked me to beg you to try to reconstruct his program."

Amita scowled. "That's going to be hard without the files."

"We do have some of the files," Colby said.

"And," added David, "we've read the missing files. Hopefully we'll remember enough to help reconstruct the data."

"I don't know if it will be enough. If Charlie worked on the program for that long, who knows how he tweaked it. He probably completely rewrote entire sections," Amita said, shaking her head.

"Just do what you can. Charlie will probably be chomping at the bit to get back to it as soon as the anesthesia wears off," Don said. "Where does he save his backups?"

"Charlie usually backs up to the network," Amita said.

"But a lot of what he does is confidential!" Don objected.

"He uses an encryption program he developed, and he keeps his work password protected. Anything that he really needs to keep secret, he backs up to DVD, then he locks the DVDs away. Since he gave you his password, I'm guessing he backed this up to the network." She glanced at Don, who was staring at the reflections on the surface of his coffee. "Don," she waited until he looked up at her and continued, "I'll do the best I can."

"Thanks," he said softly and went back to staring at his coffee.

"Don," Megan said, touching her boss on the shoulder. "Why don't you go back to the hospital to be with Charlie and your dad?"

He shook his head. "No. They wanted me here, working on this case." He rubbed his eyes and looked Colby and David. "Did you find anything useful in his office?"

Colby shrugged. "Not really..."

"But?" Don said, looking up.

"The files. The CSIs are going to try reconstructing the files that were burned. But it looks like some files were taken."

"Really?" Don said, "Will they be able to tell which ones?"

David nodded, "That's what they're hoping. Why don't I go down to Charlie's office to get the files they left? If we have a list of which files Charlie took, maybe we can get an idea of which files Damiano wanted to get rid of."

"And I can get a start on re-entering the data," Amita said. "If it's okay, I'll work in Charlie's office."

"Why don't you come with me, and we can see if the techs are done in there," David said.

"And I'd better stay with you," Larry said, "just in case Charles' assailant returns."

Colby smirked as the three of them left. "Larry, you gonna protect Amita from Damiano?"

Larry drew himself up to his full height. "I would hope I could be of some assistance."

Amita took Larry's arm, and scowled at Colby. "Thank you, Larry. I really appreciate the offer. Maybe while you're there you can help me try to figure out where Charlie was heading with the program. If anyone could possibly know what's going on in his mind, it's you."

Don was sitting, staring into his now empty coffee cup. "Don," I said softly, "need a refill?"

"Hmm? Oh, yeah, thanks." He held his cup out to me. "Sorry I'm really out of it."

"It's okay. You've got a lot on your mind." I poured the coffee and handed him the creamer and sugar. "I'd be a basket case."

"What makes you think I'm not?"

"You conceal it well, Don. And, I don't know you very well, but I'm willing to guess that the way you cope is to crack the case."

"Maggie, you should be a profiler," Megan said. "You've got Don pegged."

Don's cell phone rang. "Eppes," he answered. "Oh, hey, Dad! How's it going? How's Charlie? ... That's great! Is he awake yet?... Yeah, I know...I never should have...But you know he... I know. I'll have a talk with him... No? Why not? I thought you wanted... Okay... When can I see him?... I'll be there. ... No, we don't have him yet... Okay. See ya later... Yeah, me too."

"So? What's the word?" Megan asked.

"Charlie's out of surgery. He's gonna be fine."

"It sounded like your dad was giving you a hard time," Colby said.

Don shrugged. "He started to, but when I told him I'd have a talk with Charlie about consulting, he changed his mind." He shook his head. "I don't think poor Dad knows what he wants any more. When Charlie first started consulting with us, at least once a week Dad would lecture me about putting Charlie in danger, or distracting him from his own work, or Charlie seeking my approval. Now that I've actually gotten Charlie injured..."

Megan interrupted. "You didn't get him injured, Don."

"You're right, but it sure feels like I caused it. Okay," Don leaned forward. "How are we going to get our hands on this Damiano creep?"


	33. Chapter 33

Chapter 33

"Don," Emma said, "Jason and I are going back to Boston tomorrow. I'm going to question Anna Singleton, and start investigating things from that end. It's obvious Damiano is working for someone in Boston. I'm just surprised he didn't go back there after he got the painting."

Don sat for a long moment, his fingertips against his lips, and shook his head. "It's possible he's working for someone here. That may be why he stayed. But I agree that it's important for you to find what you can in Boston. This whole connection between Singleton's mother and the mob, and the mob and the Crips is too big to ignore. Did you want to take any of your boxes back with you?"

"We leave at ten in the morning. If I could look through the files today, I could let you know what I'll need."

Don took out his phone and dialed. "Hey, David... Which files do you have there?" Don pulled a notebook from his pocket and began to write... Okay... Seeloff''s not there?... Okay, thanks." He hung up, and said, "Well, it's getting curiouser and curiouser. Seeloff is among the missing. So's Antonio Cruz and Casey Cheevers." He stood and walked to the white board. "Mind if I use this?"

"Go ahead," Ben said. "You can erase what's on there."

"Okay, here's the list of the folders David has." He wrote fifteen names on the board. "Colby, were any of these yours?"

"Yeah, I had Grilley, Catalano, Jefferson and Marshall."

Don put a "C" next to those four names. "Ben, how about you?"

"I had Vazquez and Montmartre."

He put a "B" next to those two names. "Maggie?"

"Terwilliger. And one of the missing files, Cheevers."

Don put an "Ma" next to Terwilliger, and started a separate list of missing files. "Emma?"

"Just the missing Cruz."

Don added Cruz to the list of missing files. "And David had Seeloff," he added Seeloff to the missing list. "I'll have to find out what else he had." He dialed. "David? Do you remember which folders you gave Charlie besides Seeloff?... Okay, thanks." He put "D" next to four names, Louis, Atta, Abreu, and Cooper. He stepped back and looked at the list. "And I had these two." He put a "Do" next to Rodriguez and O'Neill. "We've only checked off thirteen of the fifteen. Take another look. Anyone remember Duvalier or Koenig?"

We all shook our heads, staring at the board.

"Okay, maybe they weren't so memorable. Anybody remember any names that aren't on the list?"

Again, we couldn't remember any others. Megan said, "Maybe we should go down to Charlie's office and look at the files. See if anything jogs our memories."

Don put the cap back on the marker. "Yeah, that makes sense."

"Say, Don," Ben said, standing, "when are you supposed to go to the hospital?"

Don glanced at his watch. "I should be leaving soon," he said.

Megan laughed. "That means he should have been there by now. Go, Don. Give Charlie our love, and tell your dad we say hi."

"I will," Don said. "And, thanks for everything. All of you. Megan, I'll give you a call before I leave the hospital."

"Don," Colby said, "don't hurry back. We've got it under control. Take some time with your family. Now get outta here before I have to drag you to your car."

We walked with Don as we headed to Charlie's office. I was relieved to see the scene of crime techs were finished, and someone from maintenance had cleaned up the blood. As we headed into the office and Don continued toward the exit, I touched his shoulder. "Don, call me if there's anything we can do to help, okay? And I mean anything."

"I will, Maggie."

"Promise?"

"All right. I promise. See you guys later," he waved as he headed toward the door, shoulders slouching, head down. He was still feeling guilty, and I couldn't figure out how to snap him out of it.

Amita was sitting at Charlie's desk, with David beside her. Larry wandered around the office, picking up odds and ends and toying with them. "Hi, guys," Megan said. "We decided to jog our memories by looking at the files. There are two files nobody remembers giving to Charlie."

"Duvalier and Koenig, right?" Amita said.

"Right. You guys don't remember them either?"

"No," David said. "We may have to wait for Charlie. He might have some idea where they came from."

Megan lifted one of the folders. "Were these checked for prints?"

Colby answered. "Yeah. Of course, they've been handled by dozens of people over the years, but we're hoping they'll find something useful."

"Okay," Megan said, "Amita, how's the program coming?"

Amita shook her head. "I think I'm on the right track, but without Charlie..." she shrugged. "I'll let him fix it when he gets back."

Megan grinned, "If we haven't solved it by then! You guys do have classes in two days."

Larry stopped wandeirng and stared at Megan. "Who is going to handle Charles' classes? Oh, my. His students are going to be so disappointed. There's a waiting list for his classes." He shook his head. "I hate taking his classes, because I see the disappointment in the students' eyes. Especially the female students..."

"Oh, Larry," Megan said, "they're not really disappointed. They're ... worried. They wonder what happened to Professor Eppes."

"Oh, Megan, that was a noble attempt. But I have heard what they say. They are definitely disappointed."

"Well, hopefully they won't have to go without Charlie for too long. Don did say the doctor said it wasn't serious." Megan opened the folder she had picked up. "Okay, this is Duvalier. Juwan Duvalier, born in 1970, in Los Angeles. Member of the Crips. Shot to death in 1998. Well, I doubt he's involved in the drug case, but he may have been involved in the Gardner theft. Do any of you remember seeing this file before?"

None of us did. Megan started to close the folder.

"May I see it?" Ben asked. "None of that sounds familiar, but I do tend to remember images more than words."

I looked at the file with Ben, but neither of us remembered seeing it before.

"Okay, our second mysterious folder is Otto Koenig. Born 1954, in Boston. Convictions for fencing, burglary, armed robbery. Was questioned in the Gardner theft, but had a rock-solid alibi. He was in jail for receiving stolen goods. Ring any bells?" She handed the folder to Ben.

None of us had ever heard of Koenig. Colby chuckled. "Well, at least this one is still alive. Any mob or gang connections?"

Ben flipped through the file and shook his head. "Not any that I see." He handed the folder to Colby.

"So is there anything in those two files that would explain why they were added to Charlie's stack?" Megan asked.

"We don't know they were added," Emma said. "We won't know until we talk to Charlie."

"True," Megan said, "But let's assume for the sake of discussion that they were added by Damiano when he took or burned the folders for Cruz, Cheevers and Seeloff."

Megan's cell phone rang. She glanced at the caller ID and answered it, "Hey, Don! How's it going?... That's great!... He's awake already?... Wow. How's he feeling?... Yeah, the anesthesia will do that to you... Do I hear your dad and brother arguing in the background?... What?... Oh, man... Say, Don, have you told Charlie about the fire and the missing folders yet?... Okay, well I need to ask him something, but if your dad is on the warpath... Sure... Hey, Charlie! How are you feeling?... Okay, well I won't keep you long. I just have a question for you... There were two folders in the stack on your desk that none of us remembers ever seeing before... Yeah, Duvalier and Koenig... No?... That's weird... Well, thanks, Charlie. I'll let you go before your dad comes down here and ... yeah... well, you take care of yourself. Do what the doctors tell you to do... Okay, we'll see you, Charlie."

"How'd he sound?" Amita asked.

"He sounded good. A little out of it. Well, actually, a lot out of it. And he never saw those two folders."

Author's Note: I don't have a bachelor's degree, let alone a medical degree, so any medical information I included here is probably wrong. Just ignore the mistakes and enjoy the story!


	34. Chapter 34

Chapter 34

"Don?" Megan said into her phone, "Yeah, he sounded pretty out of it... He had the answer I needed... Yeah... Say, Don, when do you think Charlie will feel up to helping Amita reconstruct the work he did on the program last night?... Yeah, she's trying, but it would be so much easier if... I know... I heard your dad in the background... What were he and Charlie arguing about?... Ah, so now would not be a good time to ask for Charlie's help... When can we visit him?... No! Not to pick his brain, Don! We want to visit our friend... Don, have I ever lied to you?... Well, there was that... Okay, we'll do what we can, but we really need Charlie... Okay, thanks. Let me know if you have any luck... No, stay there. We're doing great... Really."

Megan pushed "end" on her cell phone, and grinned. "Don's going to see if we can get past Papa Bear and the doctors to get Charlie to help. Charlie really wants to help. He knows about the missing files, and he's anxious to help Amita reconstruct the lost work. But I could hear Alan and Charlie arguing while I was talking to Don, and it's going to be hard to convince Alan."

"But," I interrupted, "I know this is important, but isn't Charlie's health more important?"

"Of course," Megan said angrily, "I'd never suggest we do anything to hurt Charlie."

"I'm sorry, Megan, I didn't mean to imply that you would do such a thing! But I'm sure Alan is more worried about Charlie than he is about this case."

"True," Megan said, sighing. "And I know Don will push Charlie to work on it. He loves Charlie, and wouldn't consciously do anything to hurt him, but once he gets his teeth into a case, he tends to bulldoze anything that stands in his way."

Amita chuckled, "A lot like Charlie. Did Don say when we could visit?"

"Tomorrow," Megan said. "They want to keep Charlie on intravenous antibiotics for a day or two. Because the intestines were punctured, there's a risk of infection. And, of course, they have to make sure the plumbing works before they let him go."

"Okay," Colby said, "Now that's way too much information, Megan."

Megan laughed. "You're squeamish, Granger." She stood and stretched. "I think we might as well go back to the office. Emma, you wanted to go through the files some more. We should be getting the crime scene reports soon, and I want to see if LAPD and campus security had any luck finding anyone who saw Damian. Amita, do what you can with the program. I'll let you know if I hear from Don."

"Okay," Amita said. "And I'll go to the hospital during visiting hours tomorrow. Should I bring my laptop?"

"I don't see why not," Megan said with a sly grin. "After all, you'll need something to do while you're waiting, and if Charlie is asleep."

"That's true," Amita said, smiling innocently. "I would never dream of bothering Charlie with this stuff while he's busy recuperating."

Tuesday morning, Ben and I arrived at the hospital, a few minutes before visiting hours began. I was carrying a cheery bouquet of daisies and daylilies, in spite of Ben's teasing. "Maggie, you don't bring flowers to men!"

"You do when they're in the hospital. It brightens the room, and gets rid of some of the institutional feeling."

Ben rolled his eyes. "Nothing could brighten a hospital room."

I squeezed his hand. He had spent too many long, sad hours in his first wife's hospital room when she was dying of cancer. I was actually amazed he hadn't come up with an excuse to avoid visiting Charlie. As we entered the lobby, I could feel him growing tense beside me. "Charlie will appreciate this visit," I whispered. "Even if he doesn't appreciate the flowers."

Alan and Amita were sitting with Charlie, who appeared to be asleep. Alan stood and shook Ben's hand, "Hello, Ben, Maggie," he whispered, "Maggie, the flowers are beautiful!"

Amita smiled at us, "Hey, Maggie. Hey, Ben. You just missed sleeping beauty. I figured I'd get some of my work done while he's asleep."

Alan stretched. "Well, I think I can trust you grownups to keep things under control in here. I'm going down to the cafeteria for a bite to eat. Don't let Amita and Charlie work on the case while I'm gone."

"You can trust us, Alan," Ben said sincerely. "We will not allow anybody to put your son at risk. Not even the lovely Amita."

"You must have children," Alan said, nodding.

"I do," I said. "I have a son who's away at college. I know how you feel, Alan. No matter how old they get, they're still our babies. You were here all night, weren't you?"

"Yes, I was," Alan stifled a yawn.

"Why don't you go home for a while, take a shower, maybe even get a nap? Ben and I will be happy to stay with Charlie until you get back."

"And," Ben added, "give us your cell phone number and we'll call you if anything important happens."

"I suppose I could do that," Alan said, touching Charlie's cheek tenderly. "They've got him so doped up, he'll probably be out of it for hours." He glanced up and scowled at me. "You're not trying to put anything over on me, are you?"

"Never. You just look so tired, and you're not going to be much help to Charlie if you're asleep when he wakes up."

"True." Alan gave us his home and cell numbers. "Thank you, Maggie and Ben. I would never admit it to Charlie, but I really am getting too old for this." He ruffled Charlie's hair. "See you later, son. I love you."

Charlie murmured in his sleep and turned his face into Alan's hand.

"See you later," Alan whispered to us. "And you will call me if anything at all happens."

"I promise," I said, patting Alan on the shoulder. "Get some rest."

I put the flowers on the window sill and settled into the chair Alan had vacated. "So, Amita, how's it going?"

"I broached the subject of Charlie's program when I first arrived. Charlie was enthusiastic but Alan was not. I don't feel right about going behind his back..."

"I know," I said. "You know, why don't we get a second opinion? I'll ask the nurse." I stood up and went out to the nurse's station. "Hi, I'm a friend of Charlie Eppes's. His dad has just left, and I forgot to ask what kind of restrictions there are on what Charlie is allowed to do. When Charlie wakes up, I'm sure he'll be trying to run a marathon."

The nurse laughed. "I doubt he'll feel up to it. He can sit up with assistance, so he doesn't put any strain on his stitches. He's on clear liquids today, which means jello, water, tea, broth. So I hope you didn't bring him anything to eat."

"Oh, no. I just brought flowers."

"That's good. Flowers are always safe."

"Can he use his computer?"

"Sure. As long as someone else lifts it for him. But he might be kind of fuzzy, with the pain meds he's on."

"Great, thanks!" I returned to the room, and gave Amita the thumbs up. "He has medical clearance to sit up with help, and use his computer if someone else lifts it for him."

Charlie opened his eyes, and murmured, "You're good, Maggie. You managed to do an end run around Big Papa."

"Aw, Charlie," I said, "I didn't mean to wake you up."

"I know. But we'd better strike while the iron is hot. Someone help me sit up. Amita, you loaded my backup on your computer?"

"Yeah, and I tried figuring out where you went from there, but it wasn't easy."

"What? All these years together, and you can't read my mind?"

Ben put one hand on Charlie's shoulder to steady him and pressed the control to raise the head of his bed. "Just let the bed do the work. You don't want to strain your stitches. Let me know when it's comfortable."

"That's good," Charlie said when the bed was angled a little over 45 degrees. I cleared his table, and Amita placed the computer on it. Ben rolled the table into place and adjusted the height. "Perfect," Charlie said. He coughed a little and winced.

"Would you like some water?" I asked. "The nurse said you could have clear liquids." I poured him a cup of water, and put the straw to his lips. "There you go. Sip slowly."

Charlie closed his eyes and drank until the cup was half empty. "Thanks," he whispered. "Okay," he cleared his throat, "Let's get this done before I fall back asleep."


	35. Chapter 35

Chapter 35

Charlie scrolled through the work Amita had done on his program. "You were on the right track," he said. "Here," he pointed to the screen, "I did this instead," he typed something, then deleted it, "But yours will work better. How many of the files did you enter?"

"Everything but the three missing files. I was hoping you'd remember what you entered for them."

"I might if my mind wasn't fogged by whatever they're pumping into my system," Charlie said, shaking his head. "Could I have some more water, please?"

I refilled his cup and Amita held it for him. As he leaned his head back and sipped, she brushed an errant curl out of his eye. "Let me know whenever you need to sleep," she said gently.

"Mmmhmm. I will. I'm just trying to remember what I entered for Seeloff, Cheevers and Cruz.

You said you entered the others. Did that include Koenig and Duvalier?"

"Yes, it did."

"Since we don't know where they came from, maybe we should take them out of the equation for now." He proceeded to cut and paste pieces of the program into a separate file. "There. We'll have them if we need them. Now," he started typing. "I think this is what I remember from Seeloff. You know," he stopped typing and looked up at Amita, "I was working on a blackboard for a while Sunday night. Were my boards erased?"

Amita shook her head. "No, they weren't. I glanced at them, but it didn't occur to me that you did some of this work on the boards. I'll go over and see what's there."

"Why don't we call Larry and see if he would just read it to us?" Charlie said. "It'd save you a trip."

"Okay," Amita pulled out her cell phone and dialed. "Hey, Larry, it's Amita... He's doing fine. He's right here. You want to talk to him?... Sure." She handed the phone to Charlie.

Apparently, Larry was at school, and wasn't too far from Charlie's office. As the two of them talked, Amita stood and stretched.

"How long have you been here?" I asked.

"I got here at eight," she said. "I just walked in, acting like I belonged here, and nobody said anything."

Ben chuckled. "An air of authority will get you in most places. And with your computer bag, they probably assumed you were a doctor."

Amita grinned, "Well, I am."

"True, but I imagine they assumed you were a different kind of doctor."

"Say," I said, "you look like you could use a cup of coffee."

"Why? What are you going to do to Charlie while I'm gone? I saw you pull the same trick on Alan." She glanced at Charlie, still talking to Larry, and said, "Coffee does sound pretty good right about now. I'll be back in a little while."

I refilled Charlie's cup, and he nodded his thanks. The pitcher was almost empty, so I went in search of more ice water. The nurses showed me to the little kitchenette behind the nurse's station. "There's always jello and juice in the fridge," a tall, stocky nurse named Chloe told me. "Charlie's on clear liquids, right? If he's hungry between meals you can take anything that doesn't have a room number on it. Just look for the 'clear liquid' sticker on each serving."

"Thanks for your help, Chloe. You all seem to know Charlie," I said, smiling.

"Yes, we do. He's been a very sweet patient. And his dad is such a nice man. It's fun to help people like them."

"Yes, it is. Thanks again!" I brought the pitcher back to the room. Amita had returned, and was savoring a steaming cup of latte. "Hey, Charlie, would you like a refill?"

Charlie had apparently gotten what he needed from Larry, and was typing madly. "Thanks, Maggie. That would be great. I just want to enter this before my mind turns to mush again."

"I have a feeling what you consider 'mush' would be genius level for the average human being."

"I don't know. These pain meds make me pretty fuzzy. Okay, I think I've got it. Between what I wrote on the boards last night – I mean Sunday night, and what I could remember, I think this might do it."

Amita smiled, and looked over at us, "Even half conscious, he still has an amazing memory."

"Don't be so sure, Amita. I might have mixed everything up for all I know," Charlie said, chuckling.

"Well," Ben said, grinning, "you can explain it to Don when he arrests the wrong person."

Charlie grinned, "He already knows I'm not perfect."

"But I think he's still under the impression that your numbers are perfect," Amita said. "And that's only because they usually are."

Charlie squeezed Amita's hand, "I'm not your thesis adviser any more. You don't have to flatter me."

Amita squeezed his hand. "Are you saying I took advantage of you to get good grades, Professor?"

"No!" Charlie exclaimed, blushing. Then he caught Amita's expression and laughed. "You are, however, taking advantage of me now in my weakened condition. Okay," he tapped his fingers on the table, "let's take this thing for a test drive." He pressed a couple of keys, then he lay back and closed his eyes, rubbing his abdomen.

"Are you okay?" Amita asked.

"Hmm? Oh, yeah. It itches. The nurse said I might be allergic to the surgical tape." He moved his hand back to the table. "She also told me not to scratch it. She said she'll use different tape when she changes the dressing. I just figured I'd rest my eyes while this runs. Did you bring any blank DVDs? I want to make a backup after it finishes doing its thing."

Amita picked up her computer bag and pulled out a DVD. "Here you go." She put the DVD on the table next to the computer, and asked, "How long do you think it will take?"

The only reply was a gentle snoring.

"Ben, Maggie, let's get him back down." We pulled the table away and lowered the head of Charlie's bed. He stirred a little, and then started snoring again.

"I think we tuckered him out," I said, straightening the blanket around him.

"Tuckered him out?" A voice came from the doorway. We all turned guiltily, to face a rather angry Don Eppes. "What did you do to Charlie? And where have you hidden my father?"

Ben burst out laughing, then covered his mouth quickly to avoid waking Charlie. "Sorry. You just sounded quite ridiculous, Don. We didn't do anything to Charlie, and Maggie and I sent your dad home to get some rest. Did you know he was here all night? He looked bloody well knackered, Don, and we just thought we'd do him a favor."

"Charlie wanted to sit up for a while," I added. "The nurse said it was okay, He just fell asleep."

Don walked over to the bed, and turned the table so he could see the computer screen. "He got the program running?"

"Yes, I did," Charlie muttered, his eyes still closed. "Now will you quit yelling so I can get some sleep?"

"Oh, man, Buddy, I'm sorry. How you feeling? You didn't hurt yourself, did you?"

Charlie opened his eyes and grinned sleepily. "No, I didn't hurt myself. They're just pumping me full of something that makes me sleep about twenty hours a day." His eyes drifted shut, "But I am hoping I was able to remember enough of the data to reconstruct the missing files. If I'm not awake when it finishes, Amita will be able to explain the results to you. If it doesn't work, then you'll have to wait until I wake up again. And who knows how long that will be..."

Don slumped into a chair. "Hey, I'm sorry I blew up at you guys."

"That's okay, Don," Ben said. "Maggie did check with the nurse before we did this. And you dad really was knackered."

"What's knackered?" Don asked.

"Dead tired," I said, "It's a Britishism. I've become fluent since I met Ben. And, might I add, you look pretty knackered, too."

Don chuckled. "Yeah, that pretty much describes it. If this program gives us what we need, I may actually be able to get some sleep tonight."

We sat in silence for a few minutes, occasionally glancing at the computer screen. With the exception of Amita, none of us had any clue what it was doing anyway.

"So, Maggie," Don said. "How on earth did you get Dad to leave?"

"I mother-henned him. And then I told him if he didn't get any rest, he would be no good to Charlie."

"Oh, that's mean," Don grinned. "You sure figured him out fast."

"Hey, I'm a mother. I know what would work with me. And he really did look like death warmed over. He needed to get out of here for a while."

Amita turned the computer and pushed a few keys. "Okay, it's done."

We all stood and surrounded the computer, looking at the screen. "So what's it tell us?" Don asked.

Amita shook her head. "Not much. It looks like this Ruth Ann Seeloff was involved with Farnsworth, but we knew that. And I think she may have been involved with Damiano. But it's not conclusive. If we could get our hands on that missing data, we could figure it out."

Charlie took a deep breath, and forced his eyes open. "Amita, why don't you try running it without the three I tried to reconstruct. See what that does. Then run it without the two I cut out this morning. Wait, I mean WITH the two I cut out this morning. Try it with and without the three... See if it makes any more sense..." His eyes drifted shut and he smiled, "It's gotta make more sense than I'm making right now."


	36. Chapter 36

Chapter 36

"Don," I said, "You look like you could use a cup of coffee."

"Watch her, Don," Amita said, laughing, "she's just trying to get you out of the room."

"Nah," I said, "I was just going to wander down to the cafeteria and get some tea. I figured I'd grab you some coffee while I'm there. I want you to sit and relax for a while."

Don laughed. "You really are a mother hen. I would love a cup of coffee. Black."

Ben stood and stretched. "I'll come with you, love. Amita, do you want another cup?"

"Oh, I'd love it. Thank you!"

"How about me?" Charlie muttered. "I'd love a nice double mocha latte..."

"I dunno, Charlie," Ben said, "I'll check with the nurse, but I don't think that would count as a clear liquid."

"Darn," he said softly. "Amita, how's the program coming?"

"You weren't asleep that long, Charlie. I'm still making the changes you requested."

Ben and I stopped at the nurse's station to ask directions to the cafeteria. "Why are all hospital cafeterias in the basement?" I asked as we headed toward the elevator.

"Closer to the dumpsters?" Ben said, chuckling.

We picked out an assortment of pastries, got the beverages and started back.

"Ben," I said as we left the cafeteria, "do you think we stand a chance of solving the Gardner theft?"

He shook his head. "I dunno, Maggie. It could go either way. The appearance of one of the Gardner paintings is an encouraging sign, but there's still a long way to go. Charlie's program might narrow down the possibilities."

"Do you understand how he does it?"

"To be honest, I don't. We see the world in images, and he sees it in numbers. I was a decent hand at maths, but the moment he starts writing those formulae of his, I'm lost."

"I feel the same way. It's fascinating watching his mental processes. I do believe he's the first genius I've ever met."

"Present company excepted, of course," Ben said.

"Of course!"

When we got back into the room, Amita was making changes to the program, Charlie was still sleeping and Don had slumped further into his chair with his eyes closed.

"I see you have two sleeping beauties now," Ben said, handing Amita her latte.

"Thanks. Do you know how hard it's been to stay awake with the two of them snoring away?"

Don stirred and opened his eyes. "I wasn't snoring. Chuck, here, has been snoring enough for two." I handed him his coffee. "Thanks."

"We've got pastries too, if you're hungry. They didn't look too bad."

"Mmm, thanks," Don said, selecting a cheese danish. He jumped when his phone rang, and fumbled for it. "Eppes," he said. "Yeah, he's doing fine. He's sleeping now. ... No, I wasn't. sleeping... What? ... That's great... Where is he?... Okay, I'll meet you there." He flipped his phone shut and stood, suddenly wide awake. "They've found Damiano. Colby and Megan are on the way to arrest him now."

"Don," Charlie said sleepily. "Be careful."

"I will, Buddy. Get your beauty sleep..."

"I know. I need it, right?"

"Now, I wasn't going to say that. See you in a little while! Maybe if we're lucky I'll have those folders for you and you can put the data in your program," Don said, grinning. His grin froze as he turned to leave and nearly ran into his father. "Hey, Dad! I'm on my way to bust the guy who attacked Charlie!"

Alan looked from Don to Charlie to Amita. "That is good news, Son, but it sounds like you've been putting your brother to work, after I specifically told you..."

"Dad, I really have to run. And I didn't put him to work. They did!" With that, Special Agent Don Eppes threw us, his friends and family, to the lions. Or rather, to the Papa Bear.

Alan looked around the room, trying to decide who to yell at first. Then he saw Charlie, smiling sleepily. "Dad," Charlie said softly, "I wanted to do it. And the nurse said it was okay. Really. You can ask her."

"But you need your rest," Alan protested.

"Dad," Charlie said, "the pain medication they have me on knocks me out about 80 of the time. I'm getting plenty of rest."

Alan sat on the edge of the bed and touched Charlie's cheek. "No fever. That's good." He turned to me, and scowled. "I trusted you to keep Charlie from working on the case. I knew Amita would give in to him if he used those sad puppy eyes on her. But you two are grownups. I expected more of you."

"Alan," I said, taking his hand, "I checked with the nurse, and she said it was fine, as long as we helped him sit up and lifted the computer for him. We made sure he was comfortable, and as soon as he started to doze off, we reclined his bed again. Don't worry, Papa Bear, we took care of your cub."

Charlie chuckled. "I'm a thirty year old tenured professor. I'm hardly a cub."

I ruffled his hair, "When you have your own kids you'll understand."

"There," Amita said, "I've made the changes you wanted, Charlie."

"Then let 'er rip. Hopefully we've have more conclusive results this time. Dad, will you help me put the bed up? I'd like to sit for a while."

Alan found the controller and slowly raised the head of Charlie's bed. "How's that?"

"Perfect. Thanks, Dad. And you really don't have to worry about me. You heard the doctor earlier. He said I'm doing better than they expected, and I'll be able to go home in a day or two."

"Actually, he said two or three days. And I thought you were good with numbers."

We settled in, drank our tea and coffee, and ate danishes until Amita turned the computer for Charlie. "That's it," she said. "It's finished."

Charlie shifted in the bed and tried to sit up a little straighter to see the monitor. "All right," he said, pointing at the screen. "That's better than last time. We've still got the connection between Seeloff and Farnsworth, but the connection between Seeloff and Damiano is even stronger. And there's Cruz. He's not connected with Farnsworth or Seeloff, but he's got a strong connection to Damiano. And Terwilliger is surprising. We thought he'd be connected with Cruz, but he's got an even stronger connection to Seeloff." He lay back and said, "I wonder if Don's gotten Damiano yet. I'd love to see those folders."

Alan picked up the control and started to lower the bed. "I'm sure he'll call you and let you know. Why don't you..."

"... get some rest. I know, Dad. Sounds like a good idea to me. Amita," Charlie said, "why don't you save that and try it again the other way I suggested. I think I'm gonna take a little nap."

Alan's phone rang, and he grabbed it quickly to keep from waking Charlie up. "Hello? Donnie! How'd it go?... You did?... That's great!..., Yeah, but he's sleeping..."

"No I'm not."

"I stand corrected, Don. He's awake. You want to talk to him?... Okay, Charlie, here, talk to your brother."

Charlie took the phone, "Hey, Don, how'd it go?... That's great... Did he have the folders?... Really? Which one?... That's odd... So Cheevers is still missing?... Yeah, maybe... But he had Seeloff and Cruz... Oh, of course he'd have a lawyer... Okay... See you later... Here's Dad," he handed the phone back to Alan and looked at us. "Damiano had Seeloff and Cruz's folders, but not Cheevers."

"Maybe that's what burned," Ben said. "Remember, some papers were burned in your office."

"I don't know. He did say it looked like some papers were removed from Seeloff's folder. You know how they punch holes in the documents and clip them to the folders, well there were some pages torn out. He's going to bring the folders over later."

"Any word on the painting?" Ben asked.

"I didn't think to ask, and Don didn't say. Hey, Dad," Charlie tapped Alan's arm. "Ask Don if they found the painting."

Alan passed the question on to Don, then said, "No sign of the painting. Sorry, Ben."


	37. Chapter 37

Chapter 37

Ben toyed with the bandage on his hand, deep in thought. Finally, he looked at me. "I hadn't realized how much I'd hoped Damiano would still have the painting. It stands to reason that he would have sent it on to his employer immediately, but I was still hoping."

"Now we can place all our hopes in Charlie's program." I grinned at Charlie, "No pressure, of course."

"Compared to some of the cases Don's gotten me involved in, this one is a walk in the park," Charlie said. He turned to Amita. "I think we might as well wait until Don brings the folders over. Of course, it sounds like someone took the important pages..."

"Or the ones they thought were important," Amita said. " We might still find something worthwhile in the pages that are left."

"I'm surprised the Cheevers folder is missing," I said. "That's one of the ones I gave you. He's a fence, and not a high end one either. But he had connections in Boston and with the Crips. He was interviewd by that McLaren guy."

"The one who got canned, right?" Charlie asked. "Maybe we should ask Don to pull McLaren's file. He might have been involved in the original theft."

"True," Ben said. "There are so many people involved in the two cases. I'm glad your program is sorting them all out. Now, you mentioned that the petty thief, Terwilliger was connected with Seeloff, right? That seems odd, since he's out here and she was in Boston, doesn't it?"

"And," I added, "Terwilliger had a strong connection with Cheevers, whose folder is missing. Cheevers was Terwilliger's favorite fence."

A nurse entered the room, and said, "I'm sorry to interrupt, but I need to change Charlie's dressing and take his vitals. It'd be better if you folks went for a walk for a few minutes."

Amita saved what she was working on, and we decided to wander down to the lounge. "So, Amita," I said, "how long have you and Charlie known each other?"

"Let's see, he was my thesis adviser two years ago. He's great to work with. A little bossy at times, and he can be incredibly stubborn, but otherwise, a lot of fun. While you're here, you have to see him teach."

Alan agreed, "If, like me, you have no clue what these two are talking about when they talk math, you'd be best off attending one of his 'math for dummies' lectures."

I laughed. "They don't really call them that, do they?"

"No, no. That's my nickname for them. I think they're called 'Math for Non-Mathematicians.' Charlie can tell you if he has any scheduled this semester."

Amita shook her head. "Maybe not, Mr. Eppes. He doesn't always remember things like that. I'll email you a copy of his schedule when we go back to the room."

We found the lounge, sat for a few minutes, and then headed back to Charlie's room. The nurse had finished the gruesome work of changing the bandages, and was taking Charlie's temperature and blood pressure. "Just in time," she said. "We're just finishing up here."

Alan sat in the chair closest to Charlie, and asked, "How's he doing, Bethany?"

"His temperature is a little high, but not bad. The wound is healing just fine. No sign of infection. Charlie, you feel like having some jello?"

"Yes, thanks. These guys have been eating danishes and drinking coffee in front of me all day. I think they're just doing it because they know I can't have any."

"Well, it's up to the doctor, but I think you might be on a soft diet tonight and regualr food tomorrow," Bethany said. "I'll bring your jello."

"Why don't I come with you and get the jello," I offered. "You must have more than enough to do."

"Thanks, I certainly do," Bethany said.

I was walking back with a serving of red, when Don came down the hallway. "Hey, Maggie," he said. "Looks like they've got Charlie eating almost-real food."

"Yep. The nurse said he might be on soft foods tonight."

"I don't even want to think about what that could be," Don said, grinning. "Hey, everybody," he said as he entered the room. "Charlie, I brought more work, but only if you're up to it," he said, with a wary glance at Alan.

"Let him eat his jello first, Don," Alan warned.

"Hey, Dad," Charlie protested, "I can multitask, you know."

"I don't know, Chuck," Don said, "can you walk and chew gum at the same time?"

"Gum's disgusting," Charlie said. "But I can eat jello and look at those files at the same time. All right, Maggie! You brought red. My favorite flavor!"

Alan looked closely at Charlie's face. "You've been up for a long time, and you're starting to look tired, Charlie. Maybe after you eat, you should take a little rest."

Charlie smiled wearily at his dad. "I think you're right. How long were you guys planning on staying?"

"Until they kick me out," Alan said.

"Same here," Amita said.

"Until my phone rings," Don said with a wry grin.

Ben and I exchanged glances, and he said, "As long as you want us here, Charlie. Why?"

"Well, I thought you could look through the files, and see if anything jumps out at you. Amita knows the program better than I do at this point, so she could input anything you find that seems worthwhile." He paused to savor a spoonful of jello. "Red, the food of kings," he said. "Anyway, Amita, you can show Don what turned up in the last pass." He stopped to yawn, and continued, "And, Don, you could fill Amita in on anything you've learned about Emma and Farnsworth."

When Charlie yawned again, Alan said, "Okay, Charlie, finish eating that jello before you fall asleep in it."

Charlie ate two spoonfuls before he spoke again, "You don't have your camera, do you?" He explained, "When I was, what, a year and a half old, I feel asleep in my highchair with my face in my bowl of spaghetti. Mom and dad must have taken a hundred pictures, and Dad still loves to pull them out to embarrass me."

"Yeah," Don said, "with me it was the the picture in my Superman underoos."

"Well, you were wearing the underoos from the waist up," Charlie laughed. "From the waist down you were completely naked. And you had a pillowcase tied around your neck as a cape."

"What's the use of having kids if you can't embarrass the heck out of them?" Alan asked. "Now, Charlie, finish the jello and sleep."

Author's note: Sorry this one is so short. The embarrassing moments are courtesy of two of my own three kids.


	38. Chapter 38

Chapter 38

A few minutes after Charlie had begun to snore, Don's phone rang. "Eppes," he said, ignoring Alan's dirty look. "Emma! Where are you?... Already?..."

"Don!" Alan whispered harshly. "You'll wake Charlie up."

"Sorry," Don whispered. He stood and took his phone into the hallway. I could hear his voice getting quieter as he headed toward the lounge.

Charlie stirred briefly and fell back asleep. We started to go through the folders, and Amita opened the program.

"Can you do that quietly?" Alan asked.

"Yes, Mr. Eppes," Amita said, smiling. "But if you'd rather, we can go down to the lounge."

Alan looked at his sleeping son and nodded. "I think that would be better. I'm sorry..."

"Don't be," I said. "Charlie needs the rest."

We picked up our belongings and joined Don in the lounge. He had sat down at one of the tables, and was scribbling in his notebook as he talked to Emma. We set up the computer on the opposite end of the table, and settled in to look through the files. When Don finished his call, he walked to our end of the table. "That was Emma," he said, grinning broadly. "she's been talking to Anna Singleton. Anna admitted to spreading the information she got from Farnsworth. It looks like Farnsworth's only crime was having a big mouth, and spreading confidential information."

"Who did Anna give the information to?" Ben asked.

"Emma gave me a few names, but she's still working on that. Anna is understandably reluctant to implicate any of her friends, and Emma is going slowly so she won't panic and demand a lawyer."

"Did she say anything about Damiano?" I asked.

"Anna didn't volunteer his name, but Emma mentioned him in a group of names, and she thinks Anna recognized the name, based on her reaction. She also recognized Cheevers' name."

"Cheevers?" I said. "Why would a Boston art historian know an LA fence?"

"Interesting question, and another think Emma is going to pursue."

"What did she say about the Manet?" Ben asked.

"Not much. She did say that Farnsworth told her you had the painting in your office. She was shocked that you and Charlie were injured when the painting was stolen, and Emma believes she honestly doesn't know who Damiano stole the painting for."

Ben leaned back and rubbed his eyes. "You said that Anna was shocked that Charlie and I were injured. Do you think she was shocked that the painting was stolen after she passed on the information?"

Don shook his head, "Emma didn't say. She was just taking a break from the questioning, and decided to call me. She's going to send me a transcript when she's finished. But she did give me a few names, I thought we could plug them into Charlie and Amita's program, and see what shakes out."

Amita grinned at Don, "So it's not 'Charlie's program' any more, I see."

"Well," Don laughed, "you have been working on it more than he has, since he's been lounging around eating Jello and sleeping. I figure you at least deserve equal billing. A few more days, and it'll be 'Amita and Charlie's program.'"

Ben glanced at his watch. "I thought Emma wasn't leaving until this morning. How'd she get to Boston and interview Anna already?"

"Apparently, she couldn't wait. She switched to the redeye and left last night." Don sat and opened his notebook. "Let me know when you're ready to hear the names she dropped."

"Go," Amita said, hands poised over the keyboard.

"Okay, Anna gave Emma these names. They are people she 'remembers' discussing the case with. They all work at the MFA with Anna and Farnsworth. Amanda Hewitt, Francis Armenson, and Myron Lynley. I'll call Megan in a few minutes and get her started on checking their backgrounds. The names she reacted to were Cheevers and Damiano. Also, and this one surprised me, Fred McLaren. Now, it's possible that the names are similar to people she knows. This may not be a connection."

While Amita worked on the program, Don called Megan. "Hey, Megan, how's it going? Has Damiano had anything more to say?... Is his lawyer there yet?... Well, we can't wait all day! ... Yeah, I know... We have to wait... " I tuned Don out as he recounted his conversation with Emma, and started looking through the folder I had taken from the pile. It was Ruth Ann Seeloff's. I put it on the table so Ben could see it too, and turned to the cover page. Ruth Ann was born in 1936, received her doctorate in art history in 1966, and taught at Harvard for a few years. Then she took at job at the MFA, where she retired in 2001. She had been questioned in the aftermath of the Gardner theft because of 'mob connections.'

I turned to Ben. "What mob connections?"

"Hmm? Oh, the reason Ruth Ann was questioned? Maybe it's explained later in the file. It is interesting that they don't say 'alleged' or 'reputed' mob connections," he started skimming the pages, shaking his head. "Nothing here. Remind me to ask Don about it."

"Are the transcripts of her interviews in here?" I asked.

Ben flipped a few pages. "Here," he said. We read the first page. It gave the date and time of the interview, listed the people who were present, and had a few introductory questions. Then we flipped to the second page. Ben ran his fingers along a torn edge of paper by the clips. "It's missing." The third page started in the middle of an answer. Something about Ruth Ann denying any knowledge of the whereabouts of somebody. Unfortunately, any reference to the person in question was on the missing page.

"I wonder if the agent who interviewed her is still around," I said, pulling a small notebook out of my purse. "If I don't write these questions down, I'll forget."

"I'm sure Emma would know if Don doesn't."

"If Don doesn't know what?" Don asked, closing his phone.

"Whether the agent who interviewed Ruth Ann is still around. There's a page missing from the transcript of her interview," I showed Don the torn page.

"Actually, there are two pages missing from the transcript, and another page missing later in the file," Don said. "And nothing in the file explains her 'mob connections.'"

"That was my other question," I said. "You're good at this investigating stuff. You'd think you do it for a living or something."

Don laughed. "Sometimes I wonder."


	39. Chapter 39

Chapter 39

Suddenly, Don looked up and grinned, "Hey, Dad, what's up?"

We turned to face the door and saw a very embarrassed Alan. "Uh, Donnie, I've been given an ultimatum. Either I come down here and bring the four of you back to Charlie's room, or he gets out of bed and comes down here himself, dragging his IV pole with him."

"Sounds like my baby brother is feeling left out," Don grinned as he stood. "We'd better get down there before he throws a tantrum."

"Now, Donnie, I don't think that's called for," Alan said sternly.

We picked up our things and headed back to Charlie's room. Don stood in the doorway, hands on hips, "He's asleep!" he said loudly. He grinned as Charlie jumped and blinked at him in confusion.

"Wake up, Sleeping Beauty. We are here at your beck and call."

"Don! Hey, you didn't have to ..."

"Nope, sorry, Buddy. Dad told us about your threats, so don't play innocent with me."

Charlie raised the head of his bed, looked chastened. "I'm sorry. I was just dying of curiosity. Have you found out anything more?"

"If you apologize to Dad, I'll tell you," Don said with an evil grin.

"Dad, I'm really sorry," Charlie said. "I shouldn't have threatened to get out of bed. I knew it would freak you out, and I did it anyway, just to get what I wanted."

"I forgive you, Son. Now, Donnie, will you please tell him what you've found out?"

Don settled into a chair and recounted his conversation with Emma for Charlie and Alan. "Okay, Chuck, first of all, Anna Singleton admitted to being our leak. She passed everything Farnsworth gave her to some people in Boston."

"Who?"

"Emma's working on finding out. She's promised to keep me posted. So far, she's gotten the names of three of Anna's coworkers at the MFA: Amanda Hewitt, Francis Armenson, and Myron Lynley. And before you ask, we don't know anything about them yet. Megan is checking on them. Anna also reacted when Emma mentioned Cheevers, Damiano, and McLaren."

"McLaren? The LA FBI agent?"

"Yep. Emma's pursuing that, too. And she didn't say much about the Manet. She was upset that you were injured when the painting was taken. Emma believes Anna really doesn't know who Damiano stole the painting for. But she's pursing that as well."

"How about my computer? And the files? Did she know anything about them?"

"Emma didn't say. I'll have to ask her when she calls me back."

Charlie leaned back and took a sip of water. "So, Amita, have you added this new data to the program?"

"I was working on it when your dad came to get us," Amita said, smiling pointedly at Charlie. She put the computer on his table. "Here, and here," she pointed at the screen. "And I have to finish this, and we'll be able to run it again."

"Good," Charlie said, "You're doing an amazing job on this, Amita."

Amita beamed. "Thanks, Charlie. Okay, here goes..." she pressed a button and she and Charlie watched the screen for a few moments.

A blue-clad woman from food service arrived with Charlie's lunch. She glanced at the paper sticking out from under the tray cover. "Charles Eppes? Clear liquids?"

Charlie smiled, "That must be for me. Thank you." She set the tray on his table, and he lifted the lid. "Yumm. Tea, broth, Jello and apple juice." I wasn't sure he was serious, but he opened the cup of hot water, put the tea bag into it and started drinking the broth. "Hey, this isn't half bad," he said.

Don shook his head. "How long has it been since you've eaten?"

"Too long," Charlie said, grinning. "If I'm a good boy, they'll give me soft foods tonight. And maybe tomorrow it'll be burgers and fries. Why don't you guys get something to eat? It's been hours since you ate danishes in front of me. You must be starving."

Don checked his watch. "Not a bad idea. Dad, where would you like to go?"

"I should stay here..." Alan started to object, but Charlie cut him off.

"Come on, Dad. You have to eat. I'm going to finish this and take a nap, so don't worry about me. And if I get bored, I'm hoping Amita will leave her computer..."

Alan raised his eyebrows. "Why am I not convinced you're planning on napping?"

Charlie shrugged. "You just have a suspicious nature, Father."

"It comes from thirty some odd years with you two," Alan said, smiling. "Okay. Let's go. There's a good deli a short walk from here."

"Just don't come back smelling of corned beef," Charlie said, "or you're going to have to put up with my stomach growling."

We left Charlie to his lunch and walked off in search of ours. Alan led us to Liebowitz's Deli, a bright cheery little place with outdoor seating and a menu to rival any New York deli. Apparently, Mr. Liebowitz was a New York native who came to California to escape the winters and be closer to his kids. While we were waiting for our sandwiches, Don's phone rang again. He handed Alan the money for his sandwich and walked outside to take the call and save us a table.

In spite of Charlie's warning, Alan, Don and I ordered Reubens. Amita chose turkey, and Ben had roast beef on wheat with lettuce and tomatoes. We carried the sandwiches and our drinks out to the table and settled in as Don continued to talk. He was writing furiously in his notebook, but spared us a glance and mouthed "Thank you." as I put his food in front of him. "Okay, Megan, I think I've got it all. I'll call you if Charlie needs anything more. Thanks for checking on them for me, and make sure you call me if you learn anything more... Unless something comes up, I'm planning on staying here for a while. Charlie's up and computing again... Okay. ... Yeah, I'll call you if she gets back to me."

Don closed his phone, took a bite out of his Reuben, closed his eyes and said, "Mmmmm." After he took a sip of coffee, and said, "Okay, Emma called again. She's convinced Anna knows something about the theft of the painting. And when Emma mentioned that she was considering Farnsworth as a suspect, Anna got very nervous, and said, 'He had nothing to do with this. It was...' but then she caught herself and shut up. Anna apparently has a big crush on Farnsworth."

Ben snorted at that. "Sorry," he said, grinning.

Alan wiped a bit of Russian dressing from his lips, leaned forward and said, "Don, do you think she set any of this up to impress Farnsworth?"

"Could be. Apparently the attraction is VERY strong. Emma still doesn't think Farnsworth is involved."

I suddenly felt very nervous. I put my sandwich down and said, "It's public knowledge that Ben and Farnsworth are rivals. Do you think Anna set this up to hurt Ben?"

Don pondered that for a moment. "Could be. But why go after Charlie later?"

Ben took my hand, "And our rivalry is one of words and ideas, not knives. Don't worry about me, dear."

I shook my head and squeezed his hand. "I didn't say Farnsworth orchestrated it. You don't know how far love can push a woman. If Anna really has a crush on Farnsworth, I wouldn't put it past her. Damiano was hired to do this. I don't know how bright he is, but is it possible he didn't know who was who? You were both there the first time he attacked. Could he have assumed Charlie was you? Why else would he try to kill him?"

"We don't know he tried to kill him," Amita said.

"He stabbed him, started a fire and left Charlie unconscious next to it," I said. "Why would he have done that if not to kill him. And what would be served by killing Charlie? He didn't have any information the rest of us didn't have. Why try killing any of us?"

Alan pushed his plate away. "Now you've ruined my appetite, Maggie. Let's get back to Charlie."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. I was just thinking out loud."

Don opened his phone. "Finish your sandwich, Dad. I'll call the nurse's station and ask them to keep an eye on Charlie. They all seem to like him, so it shouldn't be a burden on them." He dialed, then said, "Sixth floor west, please... Good afternoon, this is Don Eppes, Charlie's brother... Yes, thanks... We're out having lunch, and I have reason to believe that whoever stabbed him may try again... No, no. That won't be necessary... We'll be back in a few minutes... I'd just like to have someone keep half an eye on Charlie's room... Just watch out for any visitors... Okay, thanks." He closed his phone. "Chloe is going to take his vitals and talk to him until we get back. I knew it wouldn't be hard to find a nurse to watch Charlie."

Alan reluctantly pulled his plate back and picked up his Reuben. "As long as you're sure, Donnie. I wouldn't want anything to happen while we're down here enjoying ourselves."

"I'm sure, Dad," Don bit into his Reuben. "Eat!"


	40. Chapter 40

Chapter 40

"So, Maggie," Don said, turning to me. "How are you enjoying your stay in California?"

"I'm loving it. The weather is absolutely perfect, and the people seem a lot more laid back than the people in New York. But the traffic! The only time I've ever seen traffic like that was driving through the Bronx after a Yankees game. In Syracuse, the locals consider it a traffic jam if they have to wait through one change of the light."

"Whereabouts are you from?" Amita asked.

"I was born in upstate New York – the Niagara Falls area, but I've lived in Syracuse for twenty years now."

"Ben, how about you?" Alan said.

"I was born in the Cotswolds, in Oxfordshire, but when my dad passed away our mum had to move us to Jericho, a blue collar town outside of Oxford, so she could find work and a cheaper place to live."

"I've heard Oxford is a beautiful city," Alan said.

"Oh, it is. My first wife, Sarah, and I lived there until she passed away. It took a while before I could go back, but now I love taking Maggie to see the sights."

"I've been begging Ben for months now to take a sabbatical so we can spend a couple of months in Oxford. The history just oozes out of every square inch of that city. One of the colleges in the university is called 'New College.' It was founded in 1379! Imagine something over six hundred years old being called 'new!"

Alan shook his head. "It really is amazing. Here we think something's ancient if it's a hundred years old." He finished off the last of his coffee, and looked around at the rest of us. "Are we ready to go back?"

Don smiled as he finished the last of his sandwich. "We're going to smell like corned beef, you know."

"Maybe the girls have some perfume we can borrow," Alan said as he stood.

When we arrived on the sixth floor, Alan's apprehension had rubbed off on all of us. We practically ran to his room. Charlie was sitting up in bed, talking to one of the nurses, tapping away on the computer keyboard, surrounded by several empty Jello containers. He looked up and grinned, "Hey, how was lunch? You guys absolutely reek of corned beef."

"It was excellent, Charlie," Don said, grinning. "Some time when you're not living on Jello, you should check the place out. Their Reubens are amazing. The corned beef was just right. The rye bread was thick and fresh. The Russian dressing was homemade. How was the Jello?"

Charlie gave Don a withering glance. "The Jello was great. I figured if I ate enough of it, I wouldn't envy you your corned beef so much."

"Did it work?" Amita asked.

"Nope," Charlie said.

The nurse glanced at her watch. "Well, it's been fun, Charlie, but I've got to get back to my other patients."

"Okay. But remember to tell your son I'd be happy to meet with him when I'm back at work."

"I will. Thanks."

"What was that about?" Alan asked.

"Oh, her son is thinking of transferring to Cal Sci from MIT. She wanted me to talk him into it."

Alan sank into the chair closest to Charlie. "So, Son," he said, trying to sound casual, and failing miserably, "how are you feeling? Everything okay?"

"Sure. I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be?" He looked from Alan to Don. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," Don said. "We were just discussing the case and started to realize that we have no idea why Damiano was hired to do this to you. So we don't know if he accomplished what he was hired to do."

"You've got him in custody, right?" Charlie asked.

"Yeah, we've got Damiano. But whoever hired him is still out there, and if they're desperate enough, they might come after you again."

"Actually," I said, "I was afraid that Damiano thought you were Ben."

Charlie looked confused. "But why would they be after either of us?"

Don sighed and sat down. "Why don't we take it from the top. Emma called while we were at lunch. She thinks Anna knows about the theft of the painting, and that she has a huge crush on Farnsworth. Combining that with her earlier assumption that Anna knows Damiano, we jumped to the conclusion that Anna hired Damiano to attack Ben, Farnsworth's rival. You were there with Ben the first time, and Damiano didn't know either of you, so he might have assumed you were Ben, and that's why he came after you the second time."

Charlie was shaking his head. "That's pretty far-fetched, Don."

"True, but we didn't want to take a chance. So I called the nurse's station and asked them to keep an eye on you until we got back."

"And here I thought it was my magnetic personality," Charlie said nervously. "Do you really think someone's after Ben and me?"

"Hey, don't worry about this, Charlie. If you want, I'll put an agent here to keep an eye on things, but I really don't think you're in any danger."

"That's why you sent the nurses to babysit me, right?"

Don glanced at Alan, who said, "Charlie, Don did that to put my mind at ease. I think the best thing any of us can do is figure out who hired this Damiano guy and put him – or her – away."

Charlie studied his father's face for a moment, then studied Don's face, and nodded. "To that end, I've been tinkering with the program, and I think I have something for you, Don." He pressed a few more keys. "Give me just a minute here, and I'll have something you can use." He spoke as he typed, "Okay, here it is. Anna and Damiano are definitely connected, as are Cheevers and Anna."

"One hundred percent sure, Charlie?" Don asked.

"Well, eighty eight percent for Damiano and eighty four percent for Cheevers. And there's a ninety eight percent chance that Damiano and Cheevers are connected. Have you questioned Cheevers yet?"

"Let me call Megan and see. I told her about Emma's hunch about Anna and Cheevers. Let's see what she's found. Oh, and Charlie, do you have anything connecting McLaren to the rest of them? Hey, Megan,... Yeah... Charlie's program is finding a strong connection with Cheevers. Have you talked to him yet?... No? ... They can't find him?... Really? ... Well, yeah, I guess that IS a strong connection... Okay. Yeah, that is freaky... Is that a psychological term?... Okay, keep me posted..." He flipped his phone shut. "Well, remember Anna Singleton was divorced? Casey Cheevers is her ex-husband's stepfather. Cheevers never adopted his stepson, but he was and still is very close to Anna. So, Charlie, there's your connection."

"What were you saying about Cheevers being missing?" Alan said.

"Well," Don said, "not really missing. They just haven't found him yet. There is a difference. Hey, Charlie, sorry I didn't hear your answer. Did you find any connections with McLaren?"

"Just a second. I'm looking now. Yeah, he's fairly strong with Anna – seventy nine percent. And he's got a good connection with Cruz – eighty four percent. And with Damiano – eighty two percent."

"Weird connections for an FBI agent," Amita said.

"Yeah, well agents do occasionally rub elbows with the criminal class," Don said. "All in the line of work, of course. But we can check and see if McLaren was involved with Cruz and Damiano professionally. And we'll definitely follow up on the connection with Anna."

"Good," Charlie said, pushing the table to the side and leaning back. "Hey, I got some good news while you guys were out. They're going to take out all this plumbing" he waved at the IV and catheter, "incoming and outgoing. This afternoon."

"That's great, Charlie!" Alan said. "So you'll be able to come home..."

"Maybe tomorrow. If my temperature stays down and all my own plumbing works the way it should."

"Whoa," Don said, "Charlie! There's ladies present! Seriously, that's good news, Buddy. As soon as you're cleared, I'll personally pick you up one of Liebowitz's Reubens."

Charlie rubbed his stomach. "While my tastebuds say 'yes,' I think it'll be a few days before the plumbing agrees."


	41. Chapter 41

Chapter 41

Don's cell phone rang, and he flipped it open. "Eppes... Yeah, how's it going, Megan?... Okay... Yeah... Where? ... I'm leaving now... Meet you there." He closed the phone and smiled. "They've found Cheevers."

"Well, that's good," Alan said. "Isn't it?"

Don bit his lip and shook his head. "He's been murdered. I'll call you as soon as I know anything. And I'll be assigning agents to both Ben and Charlie until we figure out what's going on."

Alan slumped back in his chair as Don left.

Amita put her hand on Alan's shoulder. "It'll be okay, Mr. Eppes."

"Yeah," Charlie said, "we're on the verge of solving this thing. Don will get 'em before they can do anything else."

"Tell that to Cheevers," Alan said glumly.

"Maggie," Charlie said, "do you still have the folders?"

"Hmm? Oh, yes," I handed him the two folders. "Just Cruz and Seeloff, though. Why?"

"I just wanted to see if there was anything I missed. Has Emma talked to Ruth Ann?"

"I don't believe so," Ben said. "She's been questioning Anna. Do you think Ruth Ann is involved in this?"

"Not necessarily, but I'm wondering if she was involved in the original theft, which would explain Anna's interest in that case. Anna's interest in Farnsworth is a whole 'nother issue. Emma gave me some information on the mobsters that Cruz met with in Boston. Amita, do you remember if we entered that yet?"

"I don't know. Do you remember their names?"

"No. I have been a little out of things," Charlie said with a grin. "Would it be profiling to say we're looking for Italian names?" He pulled the table back over and started tapping away at the keyboard. "Sorting it by name should help. Here we go. Cruz met with three low-level mobsters: Moltisante, Luna, and Buonarroti. I'm going to see if these guys connect with anybody else."

"Buonarroti?" Ben laughed. "That's Michelangelo's surname."

"Really?" Charlie said. "Were any Michelangelos stolen?"

"No," Ben said. "That would have been an odd coincidence, wouldn't it? Or are coincidences not allowed in mathematics?"

"Oh, coincidences are definitely allowed," Charlie said. "But if Buonarroti stole a Buonarroti, I would check to see if the guy is using a pseudonym." He started tapping on his tray table, and I could almost see the wheels turning in his head. "I wonder if these three mafiosi were involved with – what was his name – Carmen?"

Amita nodded, "Carmen Merlino. The one who was involved in the armored car robbery with Damiano's associate. The one they think may have been involved in the Gardner theft."

Charlie rubbed his face. "I don't remember seeing anything connecting them, but I'll let the computer take a shot at it. Of course, if the data is incomplete..."

Ben said, "You could contact Don, or Megan, or Emma and see if they have anything that they haven't given you yet."

Charlie nodded as he typed information into the computer. "Yeah. If this doesn't work, I'll try that." He drummed his fingers on the table as he watched the computer screen.

"Charlie," Alan said, softly, "are you nervous?"

"Nervous? No! Why would I be nervous?" Charlie said as he continued tapping on the table.

"Then stop that," Alan said, glaring at Charlie's hand.

"Oh. Sorry. I didn't realize I was..." Charlie said, blushing.

"Charlie," Amita said softly, "it's okay. I mean, I'd be a wreck if it were me." She grinned at him. "You're actually handling it pretty well."

"It's got to be the drugs," Charlie grinned. "Looking rationally at the events of the past few days, and, based on them, the possible future events, I think freaking out would be a normal response."

Alan rolled his eyes, "Well, Charlie, speaking for those of us who are not doped to the gills, I hope Donnie sends that agent here soon."

While we waited for the program to process, Charlie said, "Well, Ben, we should start thinking about doing an analysis of the other paintings stolen from the Gardner. I have a hunch Don is going to crack this thing open really soon. We'll need a list of the other art works..." Charlie pulled out a pad and pencil.

Ben closed his eyes and pondered for a moment. "Let's see. There was a Vemeer... Two, no three, Rembrandts... A Flinck... Five Degas... and the Manet. And there was a Chinese beaker and and an eagle from a flag pole."

"Okay, the beaker and eagle we can deal with another time. But the others I'm sure we can handle pretty much the same was we did the Manet. Who's this Flinck guy? I've never heard of him."

"He actually studied with Rembrandt, and a great many of his paintings, including the one from the Gardner, were originally misattributed as Rembrandts."

A nurse entered, carrying some menacing looking equipment. "Hi, Charlie, you ready to get all those tubes out?"

"Oh, Sandy, I am so ready!" Charlie said, grinning.

"Hey, Charlie," Amita said, "I've got to put the finishing touches on my lesson plans for tomorrow. If you don't mind..."

"Go ahead, Amita. I owe you for taking over my classes. I'm hoping to be back in a couple of days." He glanced hopefully at Sandy, who just shook her head.

"That's up to the doctor, Charlie."

"I know, but it was worth a try. Anyway, Amita, thank you so much. When I get out of here, I'll take you out for a nice dinner and a movie."

"I'm gonna hold you to that," Amita said, bending to kiss Charlie's cheek. "I'll leave the laptop with you. If I need anything off it, I'll IM you."

Alan stood and stretched. "You know, Charlie, I think I'm going to head home for a few hours, if it's okay with you."

"Sure, Dad. I've got plenty to keep me busy."

"And we can stay until you get back, if Charlie would like." Ben said.

"Definitely," Charlie said. "We can start the research for the checking out the rest of those paintings."

Sandy said, "Now all of you shoo until I get this taken care of. I don't think you'd enjoy the show."

"Why don't we head down to the cafeteria for some tea?" I asked Ben, who nodded gratefully. "Charlie, Sandy, can we bring anything back for you?"

"No, thanks," Sandy said.

"Tea sounds good," Charlie said. "Green, if they have it."

A short time later, we returned with tea. Charlie was settled in bed, wearing pajamas Alan must have brought for him, and minus all his tubes. A covered cup sat on his table. He picked it up, laughing, "They want a specimen. I don't know why they don't just use something from that bagful she just took out of here."

"Has your program finished?" I asked as we sat.

"Yep. There is a connection between the three stooges and Carmen Merlino, but it's pretty tenuous. I called Don and asked him to bring me more data on the four of them. He's still at the crime scene, but he said he'd stop by later. He also said he arranged for an agent to come here. The guy should be here some time this afternoon. So, where were we?"

"We were talking about Govaert Flinck and his connection with Rembrandt," Ben said.

"Right. I've been thinking about that. Did Flinck set out to copy Rembrandt?" Charlie asked.

"No. He studied under Rembrandt for a while. Back then, students would work with famous artists, sometimes actually doing portions of the master's paintings. The object was for the student to learn the technique, not to express his individuality. The student's success was measured by how close he could imitate the master's style."

"Okay, I get it. When I started out, I had to learn the basics. My teachers didn't accept creativity when it came to the square root of eight thousand four hundred and eighty five." He chuckled. "I'm a notoriously bad speller. Always have been. I remember a teacher saying, 'Miscellaneous is not spelled that way.' Well, I looked at her, very seriously, and said, 'But that's the way _I _spell it.' So, I guess Rembrandt expected Flinck to paint a horse in a particular way."

"Right. A lot of 'forgeries' are actually perfectly innocent student paintings misattributed as the master's work," Ben said.

"That's fascinating." Charlie took another sip of his tea. "Very good. Thank you. You know I'm linked to the internet now. Shall we start looking for paintings to compare with the Gardner paintings?"

After a few minutes of internet searching, Charlie decided he was ready to collect the specimen the nurses wanted, and excused himself. Ben took his elbow to steady him on the way, then came back and sat next to me.

We had drunk our tea and chatted for a few minutes, when Chloe came to the door with an older man in a suit. "Hi," she said. "This is Charlie's body guard from the FBI."

The agent nodded at us, then turned to Chloe. "Now, Chloe, would you excuse us? I'm going to close the door so we can talk in private. Please don't let anyone interrupt us, okay?"

"Sure, agent. You've got it." Chloe said cheerfully as she left, pulling the door shut behind her.

After she left, Ben stood to shake hands with the agent, "Nice to meet you, Agent..."

"McLaren," he said, taking Ben's hand. "Nice to meet you."

Ben reacted smoothly, but I was stunned. McLaren noticed my expression. "Why, Mrs. Cole, I do believe you recognize my name."

"Are you related to Rory McLaren?" I tried to cover, but he wasn't fooled.

"You must have been reading my reports on the Gardner case. Well, the Gardner case is sort of why I'm here." He looked around. "Where's Dr. Eppes?"

Ben answered, "He's gone for some tests. He'll probably be gone for a while."

"Good. It's you I want to deal with, anyway, Dr. Cole. It's too bad Dr. Eppes got caught in the middle of this. Damiano was an idiot. Anna wanted him to kill you, not Dr. Eppes."

"How do you know Anna?" I asked.

"Her mother and I have been close friends since the late eighties." He smiled as he saw the realization dawning on us. "Yep. Ruthie and I masterminded the Gardner theft. But I really don't have time for conversation. Anna asked me to finish what Damiano screwed up." He raised his gun to point at Ben.

Behind McLaren, the bathroom door opened a crack. Charlie appeared, holding his specimen in his right hand, and touching his left index finger to his lips. He took a couple of steps forward, then shouted, "McLaren!" When McLaren turned, Charlie threw the full bottle in his face. McLaren cursed. He backhanded Charlie with his pistol. Charlie spun, slammed into the wall, and dropped to the floor.

Ben launched himself at McLaren, grabbed his right arm and twisted it behind him until the gun clattered to the floor.

I picked up the gun and aimed it at McLaren. Originality failed me at the moment, so I went with the tried and true, "Don't move, McLaren. I've got your gun and I know how to use it."

McLaren studied my face, but before he could speak, I said, "My dad taught me how to handle a gun." Keeping the gun pointed at McLaren, I backed up to the door, pulled it open, and yelled, "Call the police! And call Don Eppes at the FBI. This guy's a thief and a murderer."

Chloe and Sandy came to the door. "Charlie's been hurt," I said, stepping forward to let the nurses pass behind me. "He's been pistol whipped."

Another nurse came to the door. "Security's on the way. And I called 911 and Agent Eppes."

"Thanks," I said, not looking away from McLaren until I heard Charlie moan softly.

I glanced down and saw Chloe turn Charlie on his back. There was a nasty gash on his right cheek, and it was bleeding freely. His eyes fluttered open. "Ben? Maggie? Are you okay?"

"Yeah, Charlie," I said, "thanks to you, we're both fine."


	42. Chapter 42

Chapter 42

Chloe and Sandy helped Charlie to his feet. "Let's get you back to bed, Charlie," Chloe said. "Careful. There's something wet all over the floor. What is it?"

Charlie blushed. "It's, uh... my ... my specimen."

Chloe laughed. "You are going to have to tell me the whole story when things calm down a bit. Oh, and we're going to need another specimen." Charlie opened his mouth to say something, but Chloe cut him off. "I am not using that," she waved at the puddle.

"Darn," Charlie said. He grimaced as he sat on the edge of the bed. "I was planning on staying in bed the rest of the day."

Chloe and Sandy lifted Charlie's legs onto the bed just as two very nervous, gun-wielding security officers entered the room. One of them, a bespectacled, gray haired man pointed his gun at me. I kept my gun pointed at McLaren and raised my free hand. "Please," I said, fighting back tears. "That man tried to kill us."

The grandfatherly guard lowered his gun. "It's okay, ma'am. You can give me the gun. We've got things under control."

Charlie opened his eyes. "The FBI will be here in a few minutes."

The younger guard said, "Wow. A federal case?"

"Yeah," Charlie said. "So if you can just keep Mr. McLaren under control until they get here..."

The grandfatherly guard nodded. "We can handle that." He aimed his gun at McLaren, and motioned to Ben. "If you'd turn him so my partner can cuff him..."

"Gladly," Ben said, turning McLaren and holding him until the handcuffs were secure. I found myself enveloped in my husband's arms and started to sob.

Looking back at it, I can see how Don jumped to the conclusion he did. The first thing he saw was me, sobbing uncontrollably as Ben tried to console me. The second thing he saw was two nurses working on his brother. "Oh my God," he said. "Charlie!"

Ben released me, and put a hand on Don's shoulder. "It's okay, Don. We've had a touch of excitement here, but it's not as bad as it looks."

Don hurried to Charlie's side. "Buddy, you okay?" He said softly.

Charlie's grin turned to a grimace as he aggravated the gash on his cheek. "I'm good, Don. That," he pointed to McLaren, "is Fred McLaren. He and Ruth Ann Seeloff were the masterminds behind the Gardner theft. He didn't give us the whole story because he was in too big a hurry to kill Ben for Anna."

"So how did you guys catch the him when the FBI has been stumped for sixteen years?" Don said.

"Well," Ben said, "We didn't really catch him. He came to us. Charlie was in the bathroom when McLaren came in. He apparently heard what was going on, and he hit McLaren in the face with his urine specimen."

Don laughed, "Oh, man, Chuck. That's just rude!" He squeezed Charlie's shoulder. "What a way to become a hero."

"A hero?" Charlie shook his head. "I don't think so."

Sandy pressed an ice pack to Charlie's cheek, and he hissed in pain. "Sorry," she said, "It'll keep the swelling down. Dr. Weiskopf is on the way to have a look at you." She lifted his pajama top to have a look at the bandage. It was red. "It looks like you might have opened up your original wound, too"

"Oh, man, does that mean I'm not getting out of here tomorrow?"

"Not necessarily. It's up to Dr. Weiskopf, but it's possible he'll still let you go. How are you feeling?"

"My head hurts. My face hurts. But other than that I feel fine."

Don smiled, and turned toward McLaren and the security guards. He showed his badge, "I'm Don Eppes, Special Agent in charge. Fred McLaren, you are under arrest for the murder of Casey Cheevers, the attempted murder of Bennington Cole, the assault of Charles Eppes, and impersonating a federal agent. And that's just for starters. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to have an attorney present now and during any questioning. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you free of charge. Do you understand those right?"

"I understand them, Agent Eppes. I do not need an attorney. I'm planning on telling you exactly what I did and how I did it."

"All right," Don said, turning to the security guards. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch your names."

The grandfatherly guard said, "I'm Amos Hargrove. This is Lee Rodriguez. Pleased to meet you, Agent Eppes."

"Call me Don. I need to ask a favor of you. My team is tied up at a murder scene. Can I get one of you guys to help me bring Mr. McLaren down to the FBI office?"

"Sure," Amos said. "Lee, would you like to go? If not, I'll do it."

Lee Rodriguez grinned, "Thanks, Amos. I'd really like to go. I've never been to the FBI office."

"Don," Charlie said. "Have you called Dad?"

"Not yet. I wanted to see what was going on first. You should call him. He'll be less upset if he knows your conscious and talking."

"Okay. I"ll call him. Are you planning on coming back here today?"

"Why, Buddy. You feeling okay?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine. I am just dying to know about Cheevers and the paintings and whatever else you've found out."

Don grinned. "I'll get back here as soon as I can. I wouldn't want to keep you in suspense." He paused and grew serious again. "You sure you're okay?"

"Other than the mother of all headaches, I'm okay. Seriously."

"All right. Well, Lee, shall we get our prisoner down to headquarters?" Don turned to Amos. "Thanks, Amos. I hope I'm not leaving you short handed."

"Not at all, Agent Eppes. I'm happy to help you out. Just send Lee back here when you're finished."

"I'll do one better. I'll bring him back after I finish my little discussion with Mr. McLaren. Unless you need him back sooner?"

Amos grinned at Lee. "That'll be fine. Give the boy a chance to see you at work. He's planning on applying to the FBI after he gets his degree."

As Lee and Don led McLaren from the room, Lee turned to Amos and said, "Thanks."

"Now, I guess I'd better get my incident report written up," Amos said. "If you're done with me, that is."

"We're all set," Charlie said. "And thanks for your help."

Charlie leaned back, closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "You okay?" I asked him.

"I'm fine," he said. "Just trying to figure out how to explain this to Dad so he doesn't freak out." He opened his eyes and gave me a lopsided grin. "You are a mother hen, Maggie. Could you give me some pointers?"

"Well, you need to sound upbeat but not too excited. Start by saying that there was a small incident here and nobody's hurt. Make sure you say that in one breath so he can hear that everyone's safe before he processes the thing about an incident. Then tell him that you've got a bruise and a cut on your cheek, but you're fine. About that time he'll be starting to freak out and will probably want to hang up and run over here. Very calmly tell him that there's no need to hurry. Everything is fine. If you try to talk him out of coming, he'll imagine the worst. Then I would probably tell him that your brother apprehended the former FBI agent he was looking for, and that he's on the verge of wrapping up both cases. If he's still on the phone by then, and not in his car, that should calm him down a bit."

Charlie chuckled and shook his head. "How many times has your son pulled that one on you?"

"Too many to count. The worst was when he called me at 2 in the morning to tell me he was just finishing up in the emergency room but that everything was fine. The he started to sniffle, and my heart just broke. I was heading for the door before he could get another word out."

Charlie was still grinning as he dialed. "Hey, Dad... Yeah, everything's fine... Nope. It looks like I'll still be getting out tomorrow... I just wanted to tell you that there was a slight incident here, but everybody's fine..." he raised his eyebrows at as he continued, "No, I've just got a bruise on my cheek, and a small cut, but I'm fine... Really... Sure, but you don't have to hurry... Everything's fine... Yeah... Hey, Dad, you remember that former FBI agent Don was looking for in that case?... Yeah, he caught him... He's taking him down to his office now... It looks like he'll be wrapping up both cases... Yeah, even the Gardner... Isn't that great?" A tall, gray haired doctor entered the room and stood impatiently next to Charlie. "Hey, Dad, I've got to go. The doctor is here to have a look and make sure everything's okay... Yes, I'm fine... Okay. I love you too, Dad. ... See you in a little bit."

He hung up the phone and gave me a thumbs up. "I'm sorry about that, Dr. Weiskopf. I wanted to let my Dad know about this."

"That's a good idea, Son. Now, let me have a look." He slipped on a pair of latex gloves and turned Charlie's face so he could examine the cut. "Looks good. I think we can use a few butterfly strips instead of stitches, as long as the swelling stays down. And I'd like to have some xrays taken." He gently moved Charlie's jaw from side to side. "Open up," he said, and ran a finger along the upper gum line. Teeth feel okay? Good. Now, let me have a look at that stab wound." He lifted Charlie's pajama top and quickly pulled the bloody bandage off. Charlie hissed in pain. "Sorry. I find it's better to do it in one quick yank." He wiped the area around the wound with a piece of gauze and examined the stitches carefully. "It looks okay. All the stitches are still where they belong. Did he punch you in the belly?"

"Not that I remember," Charlie said. "I don't remember anything after he hit me with the gun."

"Doctor," I said, "I saw what happened. After McLaren hit Charlie with the gun, Charlie spun to the left and banged face first against the bathroom doorpost. Then he fell to the floor."

"Thank you, Miss," Dr. Weiskopf said. "That explains how he opened the stab wound. I'll have the nurse come back in and put another dressing on that. All right, Charlie, we're going to want to keep an eye on you tonight, but as long as you eat and have a bowel movement, and don't show signs of brain injury, you should still be able to go home tomorrow afternoon." He took off his gloves and began to write on Charlie's chart. "I imagine you have a whopper of a headache, so I'm ordering something for the pain. I'd like you to take the first dose, but it's up to you if you take the rest. And I'll schedule you for some xrays."

"Thank you, Doctor," Charlie said, grinning lopsidedly.

"And try not to get into any more fights," Dr. Weiskopf said with a wry grin.

"Yes sir," Charlie said, saluting.

He closed his eyes and leaned back as Sandy rebandaged his wound. When she finished, she said, "I'll be right back with your pain pill. Looks like you could use it."

"Thanks," he murmured. Then he opened his eyes and looked groggily at Ben. "You don't have to hang around here. I think I'm going to sleep for a while."

"That's all right," Ben said. "We'll stay at least until your dad gets here. And I don't know about Maggie, but I'm dying to hear what Don has to say."

"Okay," Charlie said. "The computer should still be on. You could open up the internet and start searching for those paintings."

Sandy brought in the pain pill and Charlie almost immediately fell asleep. Ben pulled the table over next to us and lowered it so we could start surfing the 'net. He opened a Wordpad file and started making notes of the paintings he wanted to enter into Charlie's wavelet program.

Alan arrived while Charlie was being xrayed. As soon as I noticed his look of panic, I said, "He's down in xray. They want to make sure his cheek isn't broken. Just a precaution."

"And he's really all right?" Alan said, dubiously.

"He's fine. He has a headache, and there's a small cut on his cheek. After he got off the phone with you, the doctor checked him out and said they're going to keep an eye on him overnight. They're expecting to let him go home tomorrow."

"Okay," Alan said, slumping into the chair, "That boy will be the death of me. So," he raised his head and looked from me to Ben, "tell me what happened."

Ben and I gave him the full story, without sugar-coating it, but without embellishing it. When we finished, Alan rubbed his face. "So he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Ben nodded, "Right. And, unfortunately, all three times, the assailants were after me, and not after Charlie." He put his hand on Alan's arm. "I am so sorry, Alan. I'm sorry Charlie got caught up in this whole thing. I'm sorry he was hurt because of me."

Alan blinked at Ben and shook his head. "No, Ben. None of this is your fault. The only ones at fault are the people who committed the crimes."

Ben smiled, "Thank you, Alan. I am still sorry it happened."

We all looked up at the sound of a wheelchair coming through the door. Charlie looked tired, but he grinned when he saw his dad. "Dad!"

"Charlie! Oh my God, Son. That's not a small cut. Are you sure you're all right?"

The orderly helped Charlie move from the wheelchair to the bed. "There you go, Charlie. Can I get you anything before I leave?"

"Thanks, Louis, but I'm fine. You take care of that beautiful baby of yours, okay?"

"I will," Louis said, grinning. "And you take care of yourself, Charlie."

Charlie was settling himself into bed when Alan came and sat next to him. "Charlie, Ben and Maggie told me what happened. How are you feeling? And I mean how are you really feeling?"

Charlie looked into his father's eyes and said softly, "My head hurts. My face hurts. And I'm tired and hungry." He smiled and added, "But I'm fine."

"Did they give you anything for the pain?" Alan asked.

"They did, and it did take the edge off. I think they want me awake and coherent so they can make sure my brain's okay. Apparently, it got rattled around a bit."

"Can I get you anything, Son?"

"I know they're not going to let me have chocolate pudding, so how about Jello and apple juice?"

"You stay put, Alan," I said, standing. "I'll get it. And, Charlie, I'll ask about the pudding."

Amazingly, Charlie was allowed to have chocolate pudding. I brought him two servings just to be safe. Unfortunately, he was sound asleep when I returned. Alan smiled up at me. "They've switched him off clear liquids already?"

"Yep. We've been trying to tell you he's doing fine." I sat down and handed Alan the puddings. "The nurse said I should offer you one if you'd like."

Alan smiled and put the puddings on the night stand. "You two don't have to hang around if you have something else to do."

"We're waiting for Don," I said. "He's coming back to tell us what's going on. McLaren admitted to being involved in the Gardner theft. It'll be quite a feather in Don's cap."

"I keep hoping they'll promote him so he won't be in such danger all the time," Alan mused. Then he glanced at Charlie. "Though maybe being a math professor is more dangerous." He smoothed Charlie's hair away from his eyes.

We sat quietly for a while, listening to Charlie's soft snores and the hospital humdrum outside the room. Movement at the door caught our attention. Don and Colby entered the room, tiptoeing when they noticed Charlie was asleep. "Don, Colby," Alan said softly. "I heard about all the excitement."

"Yeah," Don said, "The three professors here caught McLaren for us."

Charlie stirred and opened his eyes. "Hey, Don," he croaked. "How long have you been here?"

"Just got here, Buddy. How are you feeling?"

"Hanging in there," Charlie said reaching for the water on the night stand. "Hey, pudding!"

"Congratulations, Charlie!" I said, "You've graduated to soft foods."

"All right!" Charlie pushed the button to raise the head of his bed. "While I eat, Don and Colby can fill us in."


	43. Chapter 43

Chapter 43

Don and Colby pulled chairs over and we sat in a semicircle around Charlie's bed as he devoured both servings of pudding.

"Okay," Don said, "McLaren just filled us in on exactly how brilliant he and Ruth Ann Seeloff were. They hired two local Boston thieves, gave them police uniforms, a list of the artwork they wanted and maps showing them where to get the paintings. Then they waited in the truck. When the thieves came out the first time with the Rembrandt they had cut from the frame, Ruth Ann lit into them, yelling so loudly McLaren was afraid someone would call the cops. When they finished, McLaren and Ruth Ann took the uniforms, gave them a change of clothes, and paid them off. They never had any dealings with the two thieves before or after this case. I guess they knew Charlie would be looking for the connections," he grinned at his brother.

Charlie laughed as he licked the last drop of pudding from the spoon. "I don't think so. Not sixteen years ago."

"When they found out there was no insurance on the paintings, and the reward was so small, they decided to keep the paintings in storage until they could make a decent profit. Unfortunately, they worked with Casey Cheevers, the fence. He turned out to be the weak link. Everything went fine until Cheevers started running short of money. He started to ask McLaren for more money. When McLaren cut him off, he decided to take matters into his own hands. The Crips had some money they needed to launder, and Cheevers took it off their hands in exchange for the Manet."

Colby continued, "David and I went to Cheevers' warehouse and found the rest of the artwork from the Gardner theft."

"All of them?" Ben breathed.

"Every last one," Colby said with a grin. "Looks like Cheevers didn't last long with his hand in the cookie jar. We didn't move the paintings. We're waiting for some experts from the FBI art squad to take over. I figured the Whiz Kid would like to run them through his program, so I put in a request to have them all scanned."

"Thanks, Colby," Charlie said, grinning.

"Hey, anytime I can be of assistance, Professor."

"So, Don," Alan said softly, but with a trace of threat in his voice, "what happened to the agent you were supposed to have protecting your brother? And how did this McLaren find out about it?"

Don chewed his lips and finally said, "Well, Dad, it's a long story."

"I've got all the time in the world."

Don took a deep breath. "McLaren was here to find Ben. Since Farnsworth had kept Anna up to date on their movements, she knew that Ben and Maggie were spending a lot of time with Charlie here in the hospital. So he was waiting in the lobby. Anna had begged him to finish Ben off, and because of his love for her mother, he agreed to do it. Unfortunately," Don hesitated and looked guilty, "Unfortunately, I walked through the lobby while I was on the phone arranging for two agents to come here and keep an eye on Ben and Charlie, and McLaren overheard me."

"Donnie!" Alan said, "I can't believe you put Charlie at risk like that. And Ben too. Do you always discuss FBI business in public places? You're not taking very good care of your civilian consultants, Don."\

"Dad!" Don said in exasperation. "We've had this conversation too many times. Charlie is a grownup. He can make his own decisions about the cases he works on. And because of you, I'm more careful with Charlie than I am with any other consultant." Don stood and walked toward the door. "I can't do this any more, Dad."

"Wait," Alan said.

"Why? So you can tell me again how this is my fault? I'm sorry, Dad," he murmured as he left the room.

"Don!" Charlie called. When Don didn't return, Charlie climbed out of bed and followed him down the hallway.

"Charlie," Alan stood to follow.

"Don't, Dad," Charlie said, holding his hand up. "I need to talk to him."

After Charlie left, Colby said, "Mr. Eppes, if I'm out of line here, just tell me, but I have got to tell you that Don's really torn up over what happened to Charlie. He blames himself. He told me he's thinking of asking Charlie to stop consulting with us. He knows Charlie will fight it, but he said he didn't know how much more he could take." Colby looked at Alan and said, "I'm sorry, Mr. Eppes."

Alan sat back in his chair. His face sagged, and he suddenly looked older and sadder than I had seen him. "Thank you, Colby. I wish Don had told me."

Colby smiled, "He'll kill me if he finds out I told you."

Alan returned the smile. "Sounds like Don. Don't worry. Your secret is safe with me."

"Thanks, Mr. Eppes. I just thought you needed to know.

We sat in uncomfortable silence for a few moments before Ben spoke. "So, Colby, you saw the paintings? Were they all right?"

"Yeah. I'm no expert, but the room they were in was climate controlled. They were all still on their original, what'd you call them?, stretchers. None of them was noticeably damaged."

"That's very good. I can't wait to see them."

Colby grinned. "I don't know, Professor. The last time you had one of these paintings in your possession, things didn't go so well."

Ben flexed his left hand, and I noticed that his bandage was bloody. I stood. "I'm going to ask the nurses for some gauze so I can rebandage that hand, Ben."

Sandy volunteered to take care of Ben's hand, and she followed me into the room, carrying her supplies. "Hey, Ben," she said, "let me fix you up. It's the least I can do after all you've been through." She glanced at the bed. "Where's Charlie?"

"He and Don went for a little walk," Ben said.

"Well, I hope they didn't go far. We don't want Charlie overdoing it."

As if on cue, Don and Charlie returned to the room. Don had his arm around Charlie's waist and was clearly supporting him. Don glanced at Alan as they passed him, and said, "I'm sorry, Dad. I was out of line. Come on, Chuck, let's get you in bed before you pass out."

"I'm not going to pass out, and don't call me Chuck," Charlie said, biting his lower lip as he eased himself onto the bed. He leaned back and closed his eyes. "Thanks, Don," he whispered. "Could you get me a drink of water?"

Don filled the cup and held it for Charlie as he drank deeply. When he finished, Charlie said, "Dad, I know you're upset at all that's happened over the past few days. But it's not Don's fault. The only ones at fault are the people who committed the crimes." He stopped as Alan gasped. "What? What's wrong, Dad?"

"My words have come back to haunt me," Alan said, starting to smile. "I said that very thing to Ben earlier today. Donnie, I am so sorry. I know the hell you've gone through. I've seen you with Charlie, and I know. I ... I lashed out at you because I couldn't find anyone else to blame. You are a great brother, and a great agent. And I couldn't wish for a better son." He shook his head. "When you two work together, it warms my heart and scares me half to death at the same time. Do you understand?"

"Yeah, Dad," Don said, biting his lips. "I do." He took a deep breath. "With what we put you through, I'm surprised you have any brown hair left." He reached out and ruffled Alan's hair. "So," Don said looking at Colby, "Have I pretty much covered everything so far?"

"I think so," Colby said.

"Is there any sign of the Manet yet?" Ben asked.

"Not yet," Don said, "but I'm guessing one of the people we're questioning knows where it is. It's just a matter of time before we get one of them to talk." Don stopped, and his eyes widened as a smile slowly played across his lips. "Hey, Charlie, we could use that prisoner's dilemma thing you used in the dirty bomb case. Play one against the other, and hope one of them cracks. You don't feel up to doing a little math demonstration for them, do you?"

"Oh, no. Once was enough," Charlie shook his head and winced, closing his eyes. "Why not just let your agents tell Anna that McLaren is talking, and tell McLaren that Anna is talking, and tell Damiano that they're both gonna let him hang for it? One of them has got to figure that he or she has too much to lose to risk it saving the others."

Don's cell phone rang. "Eppes... Yeah, how's it going?... Really? That's great... Where is it?... Okay, well make sure you take enough firepower... Yeah... Let me know how it goes... And be safe, okay? Don't take any chances... All right... See you later." He closed his phone and grinned at Ben. "They're on the way to retrieve the Manet. Turns out Damiano struck a deal with the Crips on behalf of his mob friends. He gave it back to them instead of to McLaren." Don slumped back in his chair, rubbed his face with both palms, and heaved a deep sigh. "I think it's finally over."

And it was just about over. Charlie ate his soft supper, and the rest of us went back to Liebowitz's Deli. The next day, Alan brought Charlie home, and that evening, after our first day of classes, and Don's day of press conferences and report writing, we met at the Eppes home to celebrate.

Alan and Don had ordered enough pizzas to feed an army. Amita and Larry arrived with Chinese takeout in case Charlie couldn't handle the pizza. Megan brought a very tasty wine, and Colby and David came bearing beer and chips. Ben and I were in charge of dessert and brought an assortment of Haagen Dazs.

The agents had recovered the Manet, much to Ben's relief. And the conservator who examined it said that Ben's blood and the cut from Damiano's knife hadn't done any damage that couldn't be repaired. The agents had also arrested enough gang members to keep the courts busy for months, and confiscated enough weapons and drugs to put those gang members behind bars for a very long time.

Don and Emma shared the credit for solving one of the biggest crimes in FBI history. Don, Ben and Charlie were already being booked for enough speaking engagements to keep them busy for the whole semester.

As we made ourselves comfortable in the beautiful living room, balancing our plates and glasses, Charlie raised his glass in a toast. "To Don Eppes, Special Agent in Charge of solving the biggest art crime in history!"

As we sipped our beverages, Don toasted, "To Charlie Eppes, consultant extraordinaire without whom none of this would have been possible."

Colby raised his beer bottle, "To Alan Eppes, without whom Don and Charlie would not have been possible."

Alan joined the laughter, and said, "Enough already. Let's eat."

The End


	44. Bonus chapter

Author's Note: This is a scene that took place off-stage in "Wavelet Analysis" My chosen POV for that story wouldn't let me include this scene.

As we sat in Charlie's hospital room, Dad finally got the the point that had been eating away at him for hours now. "So, Don, what happened to the agent you were supposed to have protecting your brother? And how did this McLaren find out about it?"

I chewed my lip, trying to organize my thoughts. I never wanted Charlie to get hurt. But on this case, he had been attacked three times. Three times. And the third time had taken place in this very room. After I had promised to have an agent protecting him. "Well, Dad," I finally said, "it's a long story."

Dad glowered. "I've got all the time in the world."

I took a deep breath and outlined all my failings. "McLaren was here to find Ben. Since Farnsworth had kept Anna up to date on their movements, she knew that Ben and Maggie were spending a lot of time with Charlie here in the hospital. So he was waiting in the lobby. Anna had begged him to finish Ben off, and because of his love for her mother, he agreed to do it. Unfortunately, I walked through the lobby while I was on the phone arranging for two agents to come here and keep an eye on Ben and Charlie, and McLaren overheard me."

Dad exploded, just as I knew he would. Just as I would have. "Donnie! I can't believe you put Charlie at risk like that. And Ben too. Do you always discuss FBI business in public places? You're not taking very good care of your civilian consultants, Don."

Taking care of my civilian consultants. That was code for taking care of my little brother. We had had that conversation too many times in the last two years. "Dad! Charlie is a grownup. He can make his own decisions about the cases he works on. And because of you, I'm more careful with Charlie than I am with any other consultant." I stood and walked toward the door. "I can't do this any more, Dad."

"Wait," Dad said.

"Why? So you can tell me again how this is my fault? I'm sorry, Dad." I kept walking. I really didn't have the strength to fight this battle again.

I was a few yards down the hallway when I heard Charlie behind me. "Don!" I turned around to tell him to go back and leave me alone. But I saw the look on his face and I stopped, waiting for him to catch up. He moved pretty slowly, with a healing knife wound in his belly, and a newly acquired concussion and gash on his cheek from being pistol whipped. "Thanks," he said breathlessly as he caught up with me. "Don, we need to talk."

"You need to get back to bed, Buddy."

"Not until we talk. Let's go to the lounge." He wasn't begging. He was commanding. I was so emotionally drained I couldn't argue. I took his elbow to steady him as we walked. He didn't speak again until we were seated, and then he took a moment to catch his breath first. "Don, Dad is wrong. If anything, you have been too careful with me. This, this is an anomaly. The only reason I was attacked was because they mistook me for Ben. There was no way you could have prepared for any of the attacks."

"But, Charlie, whether Dad is wrong or right, that doesn't change the fact that you were injured while working on my case." Charlie started to object, but I stopped him. "You can't argue with that. It's a fact. Anomaly or not, it happened, and it could happen again." Tears burned in my eyes and I hoped Charlie didn't see them. "And I don't think I could take it if it did happen again." I stopped and took a breath, trying to steady my voice. "Remember the charm school boys?"

Charlie shuddered, and nodded. "Yeah."

"Remember how you felt after that robbery went bad and I was hurt?"

"Yeah." He looked down at his hands, unable to meet my gaze.

"I feel the same way right now. What if that knife had been a little higher? Or a little bit to the right or left? What if McLaren had shot you instead of hitting you with the gun?" My voice cracked. "It would have killed me, Charlie. And not just because Dad expects me to take care of you." I leaned forward, elbows on my knees and rubbed my eyes. "I can't do this any more, Charlie."

Charlie was quiet for a few minutes. I finally looked up at him. His lips were set in a grim line of determination. But his eyes were filled with sorrow and confusion. "I don't want to stop consulting for you, Don. But I didn't understand how hard this is for you. I thought it was just Dad. But it's not. No matter how many times I tell you that I'm an adult and can make my own decisions, it's not going to change anything for you." He took a deep, shaky breath, and released it in a long sigh. "But I don't want to stop. We do good work together."

I found myself smiling. "Nah." I grinned as Charlie's face fell. "Not good work. Great work. Incredible work."

"So what do we do now?" he asked, giving me a lopsided smile.

I sighed. "I don't know. I don't want to stop. But when stuff like this happens, it scares me half to death, and I don't know how to deal with it. You're the genius. Do you have any ideas?"

Charlie got that expression on his face. The one he gets when he's searching for a solution. He had a half-smile and his eyes were focused on something invisible to his left and down. Suddenly his eyes met mine, and the smile broadened. "The problem seems to come at the end of cases, after the excitement passes and things get quiet."

"You're not suggesting we never let things get quiet, are you?" I said, horrified.

"No, oh, man, definitely not. We'd be dead before we're fifty. How about we don't change anything we're doing, but we just change our perceptions of the results?"

I shook my head, perplexed. "Sorry, Charlie, I don't understand."

"Okay, we're on the verge of solving this case, right? Ben and I got hurt along the way, but we're both alive, and we're both going to be fine, right? So instead of concentrating on the negative, we concentrate on the positive."

"And how do we deal with Dad?" I asked.

"The same way. Look at his reaction as a positive thing. The reason he's freaking out right now is that he cares about us."

"Well, I know he cares about you. Me – not so much, right now."

"Don, you know he cares about you too. That's why he expects so much of you. He trusts you to 'take care' of me."

I shook my head. "I don't know if he'll trust me after today."

Charlie scowled. "Stop it, Don. He's just reacting out of fear. When he stops to think about it, he'll realize he was overreacting."

"But, Charlie, you just don't get it. He wasn't overreacting. It's my fault you got hurt today. I never should have made that call in the lobby."

"Don, you're looking at the half empty glass again. Listen, how long would it have taken you to track down McLaren if he hadn't come up here today? And what would have happened to Maggie and Ben if he'd waited until they came out, and followed them into the parking lot?"

It was starting to sink in. I was beginning to see Charlie's point. "What I did was wrong. It let McLaren get into your room with his gun. But it actually worked out better in the long run." I looked at the swollen, bruised cheek, the gash being held together with butterfly strips, the weary eyes. The smile. "So, I'll be more careful when I'm on my cell phone from here on out. And I'll tell Dad I was wrong and take my lumps."

He nodded. "By George, I think he's got it."

"Okay, 'Enry 'Iggins, let's get you back to your room before you pass out."


End file.
